


In Which Zeetha was sicker than she thought.

by Han502653



Series: A Different Zeetha [1]
Category: Girl Genius
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Slavery, Depression, Gen, Past vague mentions of Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Zeetha is so not okay with any of this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-12
Updated: 2015-02-16
Packaged: 2018-03-07 08:30:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 25,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3168293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Han502653/pseuds/Han502653
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She had been sicker than she thought when she started the attack, still she managed to kill almost everyone before she collapsed and hit her head. The surviving Pirates fled, knowing they faced their Captains anger, taking her and any valuables they could carry. They sold her first chance they got, wanting nothing to do with her. After a long string of buys and sell, Zeetha ends up being sold to a Prince out looking for a guard for his newly mechanical daughter, and the story changed.</p><p>Part 1 of a Different Zeetha series</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In which Zeetha is bought

                “That one! Are you sure?”

                “Why what’s wrong with her?” Prince Aaronev Wilhelm Sturmvoraus asked from across the large desk. The room they were in was undecorated and everything but the desk had a thick coat of dust. The man seating before him shifted. He had never done business with a prince before, or anyone even near such a rank. Be damned if he tried to lie or cheat someone with such power, he wasn’t stupid, it could ruin him.

                “She’s been sold many times,” he told him. “You wouldn’t expect that, with her hair and skin, exotic that one, perfect for sex work, so you’d of think someone would snatch her up right quick and keep ahold of her, except, well, every time her owner tries to use her she ends up killing her client.”

                “That’s not in her papers,” The Prince replied, amused as he leaned forward and steepled his fingers.

                “Begging your pardon Your Highness but one might cheat a madam a little, but you don’t be cheating a prince.”

                “Smart man,” The Prince agreed, pushing the pile of papers away from him with the back of his pen. “How about you tell me everything you know about her.”

                “Well,” The Slaver started looking to the upper right. “A bunch of pirates were the ones to first get her, ‘bout ten month ago, apparently it went bad, she killed a bunch, and they sold her to the first offer. She was sick at the time, and hit her head when she was taken down so now she only speaks in some kind of babble language, though she seems to understand us well enough. That’s on the papers if I remember right.”

                “And you are sure she is unable to speak?” the Prince asked with a gleam in his eye.

                “Oh yes, I had one on my men take a look at her, he speaks more languages than I can count, and he says that he’s never heard it, or anything like it. Plus she babbles in it when in pain, drugged, in her sleep.” He trailed off.

                “Continue.”

                “Oh, umm, she then was sold one after another to a least four people, though I wouldn’t be surprised it there been more, ‘cause every time they tried to use her she’d kill the client. At the beginning she kept getting sick but after a few months that wore off. And that’s it really. All I know at least.”

                “And you don’t know where she came from beforehand; it says here that she has green hair?” The Prince asked, picking up the first paper of the stack.

                “No Your Highness,” he replied, twitching his fingers. “Never heard of a place where people are born with green hair, figured she was somebodies construct at some point or ‘nother and got abandoned some place, could be from anywhere but I got her down in Italy, just before the border”

                “I want to see her, have her brought up.” The Prince ordered. The Slaver paused then nodded to a lackey who stood by the door. He slunk out and the Slaver shivered as a sheer breeze flew in and rattled the papers. “What are your rates?”

                “Depends on the slave,” the Slaver asked uncertain. “But sir, are you really sure you w-“

                “Are you questioning my business,” The Prince asked with a smile as he leaned back in his chair with a tone that made the Slaver shiver.

                “No Your Highness.”

                “Good.”

                The door opened and the lackey returned with two other men, who deposited a limp person to the ground. Her cloths were simple but clean, and she had a bag tied around her head. She swayed on her knees in a vaguely spherical pattern. The Lackey pulled the bag off her head.

                Her hair tumbled out, greasy and tangled and pulled back by a ripped piece of sack, but undoubtedly green. She stared unseeingly at the ground before her, and blinked slowly.

                “Drugged,” the Prince asked as he got up to take a closer look. The Slaver jumped up with him, and moved to the side.

                “Yes Your Highness,” he answered rubbing his hands together. “It makes her much easier to transport; I did mention she was dangerous.”

                “You did,” The Prince agreed, a small and mocking grin on his face. He picked up a bag off the desk and threw it at the Slaver who nearly dropped it. It was full of gold. “I do hope that’s enough.”

                The Slaver blinked down at the bag, it was more gold than he had ever gotten for one person, even at his most charming. He looked up uncertain.

                “And if you still have your doubts, know that I am far more capable than her former owners,” he continued with a small wave of dismissal. The Slaver knew better than to argue and took it without comment, fleeing out the door with his lackeys.

                “Yes,” The Prince continued, pulling up the girl’s chin. Her eyes rolled unseeing, they had pulled all their resources in rendering her harmless. “For one I have no interest is wasting your obvious abilities in sex work, no. I have other plans for you.”

                “And second,” he added patting her cheek. “I have ways of controlling people.”

 


	2. In which Zeetha wakes…sorta

                “Father what is this?”

                “This is your sisters new body guard.”

                “But a slave Father, surely.”

                Sound, antiseptic, her mouth tasting like ozone. She was lying down, it was cold and hard. Probably metal. There were people, not a good thing. Never a good thing.

                “You know as well as I do that after…current events your Sister needs a new body guard. And as she is, we need…a less family orientated one.”

                Men, one older, one younger. Not good. Not good. Arguing? About her.  New owner then. New owner and son. Don’t move. Can’t let them know she’s awake.

                “But a slave Father, if the Baron-“

                “The Baron Will Not Find Out!” There was a crash, clinking of tools and glass, a scramble to keep them up right. Then calmer, “I have taken pains to assure so, as you can see.” Never, never a good thing to hear. And baron, what was a baron, who was the Baron, had she heard of him? Maybe, too many drugs, memory spotty.

                “The collar you mean.” Metal around her throat. Tight. Can’t breathe. Have to stay still. “A shock collar I’m guessing.” Bad. Bad. Bad.

                “Yes but a modified one.” More Bad. “Not only can it shock with a code word, as well as a remote, but if she were to leave the palace’s borders it will also activate. Not enough to kill her, not right away at least. But the genius of it is the last feature I set up, a meddling failsafe of sorts. If anyone tries to pull it off, or mess with its contents it will activate until they stop, or she’s dead.” Voice changing, similar. Reminds her.  Reminds her of Mother, of cousin Zed. She winced. What was she doing, insulting her Queen and kin. Still, it was the voice of a gifted, a, what did they call them here, a spark.

                “You’re awake,” the younger one said, fingers going to her throat. Her eyes burst open, and she made them stay that way even as the lights and colors probe her mind. She ignored the black spots that blind her, and tried to leap up. Tried to attack.

                “Liga eam anima.” Pain, from her neck, choking. Ears buzzing. Reaching up, and grabbing at the thin metal band around her throat. Small sparks branching and hitting her fingers. “Satis.” Relief.  The sparks stopped and she collapsed off the side of the metal table and onto the floor.  Her head spun, her mouth tasted of ozone, her eyes refused to focus. Her wrist hurt, was bleeding. A thin tube hung in front of her face.

                Someone leaned over her, but all she can do is flinch as he took her pules and looked her in the eye. “Father I think you over did it.” His voice was tight. Disproval. Her head spun, but she can make out some details. He had red hair, and small spectacles. His face pointed funny, his mouth tight.

                “No I imagine it was the drugs, they had her on something strong when I got her. I doubt it is all out of her system yet.” The son grabbed her by the fore arms, and helped lift her so she’s sitting on the table. She tried to resist, but is to dizzy to do much. They continue to talk as she tried to gather her bearings, the world crawling into focus.

                She has been sold again, that much is obvious, to the father, the portly, balding man in front of her. She’s in a lab, a medical one she’d guess, and she had a metal collar on her that could kill her with a word. Wondeful.

                “So that was the code word?” The son asked. She tilted her head and tried not to be obvious that she is listening in.

                “One of them, there are several. That one is for an extend shock and will only end after you say Satis. There are two more, Inpulsa.” She holds in a yelp as a large jolt hits her, nearly jumping off the table.

                “Fat-“

                “And Fulmen,” Zeetha let out a Skifanderian curse as a quick, but painful shock bit into her neck, “which is more of a warning than anything.”

               “Father was that really necessary,” The son asked wiping his glasses clean with a lacy handkerchief.

               “Certainty, you need to learn them,” he turned toward her, and she snarled. “And our new guest needs to know what will happen if she misbehaves.” The son sighed; the father’s face grew a bit tight. “Now you do it,” he ordered.

               “What Father, really is this necc-“

               “Do It!” The father snipped. The son sighed again, and turned to her. He gave her a look that she wasn’t quite sure she could or wanted to decipher. “Fulmen.” She jumped a little, but held her tongue. She glared.

               The father let out a small grunt in displeasure. The son purposely did not look his way.

              “Zur Mutan to nupas Sahatuoft,” she growled. The father laughed while the son jumped.

              “Did I mention she is incapable of speaking a real tongue,” he explained. “Had a bad head injury, and has been incapable since.” The son peered over his glasses.

              “Yes, I suppose that will be…useful,” he agreed. She frowned at him, she could tell by his body language that he was uncomfortable, if her hazy memories were correct, been uncomfortable since the beginning.

                The father turned away, “have her set up in the room next to Anevka’s; we’ll introduce them in the morning. Make sure the door is locked for now.”

                “Yes Father,” he said, before turning to her with a grimace. “Come along.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zur Mutan to nupas Sahatuoft - Skiff for "May Death pull you from the dance". Inspired from the second novel.


	3. In which Zeetha really wakes up

                 When she woke the next morning, she couldn’t remember leaving the lab, let alone falling asleep. Something pounded against the inside of her skull, and her eyes blurred no matter how long she rubbed them, but she has had enough hangovers in her life to know that the drugs had likely run their course. She touched her neck and grimaced as she felt the thin metal she found there. So it hadn’t been a dream, lovely.

                 Glancing around the room she was disturbed more than anything to see how ornate it was. A carved wardrobe and desk, and there was a full length mirror of all things. She hadn’t even had one of those in Skifander.  Still she pulled herself up and examined herself in the first time in what felt like a year.

                 She was thin, thinner than she had ever been; even back when she was fifteen and was so busy training herself to exhaustion that she forgot food was a necessity. Her hair was greasy and faded and for some reasons she had thought it a good idea to braid it up which meant that she would likely need to chop some of it off if she wanted to put it back down. She was covered in a simple cotton shift, which was not what she had been wearing the night before. A shiver crawled up her spine but she ignored it.

                 Around her neck, innocent enough that it almost could be mistaken as jewelry, was the collar. She had seen these before, while traveling with one slaver or another. They were rare from what she had seen, but every once in a while a slave would pass through with one. She had seen them used before, it hadn’t been pretty.  It was tight enough that she could just shove the tips of her fingers between it and her neck.

                 With an unvoiced snarl she pulled hard and screamed as the world went dark. When her sight came back she was down on one knee and she could smell burning flesh. For a minuet she couldn’t stop swallowing, and it took far more force than necessary to pull her fingers from around her neck. With a tremble she collapsed to her bottom and pulled her knees to her chest.

                 That was when one of the doors slammed open.

                  She was on her feet and flying at the intruder in a blur. Months of anger and frustration, disgust and shame that had been building let go in one roar. The intruder grunted as a fist slammed into his collarbone bone, and another wrapped around his neck. Then she was flying through the air, landing in a thump on the bed. The ceiling spun above her, black dots climbing up the corners of her eyes; any and all adrenalin left her, and with it her anger. She was so tired. She waited uncaring for the shock to come. It never did.

                  There was a faint brushing noise and with the last of her dwindling curiosity she lulled her head to the side to look. Fixing and brushing imaginary dust off his clothes was the son from the night before. Was it a testament to how far she had fallen that she could be so easily thrown by such a skinny boy, or a was it a sign that he was much more than he appeared. She wasn’t even sure if she cared to find out. It was like that for a moment; she had no desire to break the silence, and in the deepest part of her mind, was amused by how disgruntled and awkward he got as the silence continued.

                  “You are lucky I’m between Smoke Knights at the moment,” he finally said as he pulled his glasses from his face and began cleaning them. She smirked at the minor victory. “Though-“he paused. “I suppose I’m lucky it looks like you haven’t been fed or watered properly in months.” She gritted her teeth at the comparison, but then slumped, glancing away. As much as she hated it, she really wasn’t much more than a pet now was she. Not anymore. It was quite again, and as she watched it slowly dawned on her that he was purposely avoiding looking at her. Was he really that embar-

                 She paled a bit and her thoughts stuttered to a stop as she looked down and noticed that her shift had ridden up, enough to delete all-purpose it had. In a flash, she was sitting up, her knees pulled to her chest, and the shift pulled down to cover them. Frustration bubbled up in her chest as she failed to stop the stuttering of her heart. Hiding her face in her legs she let shame wash over her. It wasn’t that long ago that a situation like this wouldn’t even begin to embarrass her. She hated this, having no power, not even over her own body, her own reactions.

                “Uh sorry, I…um…I probably should of,” he sighed from his nose. “Nevermind, let me start again, I’m Prince Aaronev Tarvek Sturmvoraus, I go by Tarvek, you are in Stumhulten.” He gave a rather showy bow, and held out his hand to her. She glanced down at it briefly and back up at him, unimpressed. He took his hand back, and coughed uncomfortably. “Yes well, Stumhulten is currently part of,” he grit his teeth as if it physically pained him to continue, “Pax Transylvania.” She blinked in confusion by Tarvek’s suddenly lost of composure, then narrowed her eyes; she was going to have to remember this.

               “My father has ah, acquired,” she snorted, he ignored her, “you to be my sisters new body guard, but before you meet her you need to know some things.” He leaned down to pick up a bundle of clothes that he must have dropped. “First why don’t you try these on and see how well they fit, the door to your right leads to a wash room.” She stared at him, and the down to the clothes he offered. Well anything was better than this shift.

                She got up slowly, and stubbornly kept her balance as her head spun. She snatched the clothes from Tarvek’s hands, and purposely did not circle around him as she walked into the wash room. The door had a lock, which she happily used, before spreading out the clothes she had been given. 

                Surprisingly she had been given a shirt, trousers, and a jacket with a high collar, instead of the skirt or dress she had come to know Europa ladies preferred.  She had been given the traditional Europa female underwear. It had amused her when The Captain had first given her some when she had first taken ill, and it still did now. Did Europa hate skin that much? She allowed herself to be amused even as she forcefully ignored the fact the extra layer of cloth was a comfort now. Trousers at least she was used to, though she had always preferred the light and loose skirts of Skifander.

               She paused at the door, and leaned her head against the wood, her hand just hovering over the lock. She swallowed thickly and allowed her eyes to flutter close for a moment. The room was spinning around her. It felt like she was carrying a boulder on her back and all of a sudden the last few months ambushed her from behind. Her heart pounded in her ears. Her hands shook and she had to clutch the door knob to force it to stop. The other one held tight under her chest.

               She wanted her mother, oh Goddesses she wanted her mother, her Kola, her Ko. She wanted her cousin’s, Zed, Zedmara, and all the rest. She wanted Uncle Nod and his quite understanding and sneaky help. She wanted Nuhat’ku Adra and her pastries and warm kitchen. Skifander in its half closed canyon and giant trees. To go wind gliding and rapid surfing. To not be here, to be home. Oh Goddesses she wanted to go home.

               She grit her teeth and lightly banged her forehead against the door a few times, trying to pull herself together. Taking a few deep breathes to regain control of her breathing she wiped at her eyes. Her hand stung but a quick glance showed that she wasn’t bleeding. She sighed, and then went to unlock and then open the door again, only to once again hesitate. She scowled. She was getting out of here, she was going home, and she was going to see her mother again. She stood up rod straight, she was a War Princess of Skifander, and slammed the door open. The room was empty.

               Walking fully into the room, feeling rather foolish, she stood in front of the mirror, and pulled the strip of sack out of her hair. It didn’t do much, her hair was unavoidably tangled. She was tugging on it, wondering distantly if there was any chance she could get her hands on some scissors when the door opened. She spun on her heel, dropping to a fighting stance, only to realize that it was just Tarvek. She let herself relax but only just. His body language showed no signs of aggression or preparedness to fight.

                He looked at her a bit bewildered before shaking it off. “You do have good reflexes,” he responded as he pushed in a cart. Her mouth watered, the top of the cart was filled with fresh bread, a multitude of jams, fruit, what looked like eggs, and several different types of teas. She couldn’t remember that last time she had eaten anything, let alone something hot. It was enough to make her nauseous.

                “Hmm,” She painfully dragged her eyes from the food to find Tarvek examining her. She shifted. “They’re a bit big but not too bad, nothing I can’t fix, arms up.” She stared as he grabbed some thread, needles, and some measuring tape. “It’ll be best if I can get your measurements.” Yeah no, that wasn’t happening.

                 When he reached out, she slapped away his hand and ducked away, giving him a look of disbelief. He blinked at where she had been standing, and then at her. “I just want to get your meaur-“ She ducked away again, and Tarvek had to spin to keep up with her. “Don’t you want nice fitting clothes?”

                 She replied with a glance of sheer deadpan. “Stop that, why don’t you want me-“ he trailed off and she gave him a look that screamed that he was an idiot. His face went red and he looked away.

                “Alright fine. Instead stand there with your arms up, I won’t come closer.” She stared. “Look you can’t run around with unfitted clothes, not here.” She did not see any reason to care about that and her deadpanned stare happily shared that with Tarvek who scowled, “once were done you can eat.” She gave him a sour look at the black mail, but her stomach cramped at the thought of food. She sighed and dragged her arms into the air.

                He circled her a few times, writing down something or another into a notebook, before waving her off towards the food. It was a close thing but she managed not to jump on it like a starved animal. She also did not bother with too much caution either. There was nothing to gain from poisoning or drugging her at this point. She was too weak to resist much, and if they were serious about her being a bodyguard then they would need her in top shape. There was no reason not to eat and try and regain her lost strength.

                And if in the long run, it helped her find a way to escape, well that would be their fault.

                So she munched on some bread and watched Tarvek under lidded eyes. She was trapped, and if she wanted to be free she would need information. As much as she hated the idea, she couldn’t burst out of this room, start killing people, and hope to escape. It didn’t work last time, and that was without a collar that could kill her with a word. She wanted to escape yes, but she did not want to die. She needed to stay low and learn if she wanted a chance out of here.

                Last night was a blur, a dizzy uncoordinated blur, and she was sure some of what she remembered hadn’t actually happened. But she was pretty sure Tarvek had been there, and been uncomfortable. He had protested about her though he couldn’t exactly remember about what, used the weakest shock on her when forced, had checked her health when she collapsed…

                She wouldn’t trust him but she might be able to use him.

                So when Tarvek put his book away and asked if she was done, she nodded having already snuck away some bread and most of the herb she had recognized as similar to nikiptu into her pockets. At the very least she did not want to deal with her monthlies, at the worst, well she wouldn’t let it get that far, even if it did kill her. Tarvek did not seem to have noticed, even as he approached the cart and grabbed a pair of boots from below.

                “Here these should fit,” he said as he handed them to her along with a pair of socks.

                She took the after a second and put them on. She wasn’t planning on refusing anything that could help her in the long run. She had experience on how much damage running on bare feet could do over an extended time. Escaping would likely involve just that.

                Tarvek held the door open for her, “There are a few things you need to know before you meet my sister.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nuhat - to cook so Nuhat'ku - Cookmaster or Master Chef.  
> Kola - Mother, Ko - Mamma, Mom, Mommy, etc  
> nikiptu - Skiff name for Trusty Maidens Weed, or a herb like it.


	4. In which Zeetha learns an unsettling truth

               Castle Sturmhalten was a maze of ornate décor that boarded on cheesy, or at least she thought so.  She was almost disappointed in the lack of skulls, even if that would have been a bad sign. Instead there were a lot of reds and purples, and furniture that was antiques so you couldn’t actually sit in them. To be completely honest, it reminded her of the Civics Palace.

                She did her best to appear uninterested as she was given a bit of a tour, even as she purposely kept in step with Tarvek, walking alongside him. Most of it was uninteresting; she had no desire to know any of Tarvek’s ancestors, let alone all of them that have ever sat for a portrait. She just kept an ear out for useful information, most of which was layout of the castle, while she marked any potential escape routes, and entrances into the servant halls and corridors. She knew those would lead almost anywhere.

                Then suddenly they were outside. Zeetha blinked at the bright light in amazement. She hadn’t expected to be let outside. She might be able to escape sooner than she thought. Ignoring Tarvek she glanced around, barely managing to stay subtle, even as they approached the bridge that lead into the town.

                It was a smaller bridge, a larger one that served wagons and carriages lay several hundred feet down the moat, and because of this there was nearly no one around. On the other side was a quieter section of the town beyond, closely built houses instead of businesses. She could get over this bridge and lost in the town in moments, even in her current state. She couldn’t lose this chance, even if she did get shocked. Tarvek had been hesitant to use it before; she could use that to her advantage. Tarvek stopped suddenly just before stepping on the bridge. She took her chance and leapt.

                It felt like her brain was on fire, like she was being stabbed with needles all over. Her body seized up and she couldn’t move. Hands grasped her shoulder and suddenly she could breath. She was sprawled out on the ground, her body twitching erratically. Stunned she let her eyes fall on Tarvek who adjusted his cravat. He had that pinched uncomfortable look on his face again.

                “I apologizes,” he finally said, his voice prim and proper. “I had thought you had heard my father talking about the area effect of your collar last night.” He paused, and then raised a hand to point at the moat. “If you step on the bridges, or try and go into the moat it will go off.” He looked back at her, avoiding eye contact by staring at her nose. “I’m sorry.”

                Her stomach dropped as she first looked at the moat and freedom beyond it, then back at the castle, and just how small of an area it took up. Her mouth went dry, even as a flash of anger shot up her spine as Tarvek offered a hand to help her up. She ignored it and left it hanging as she got up unsteadily on her own. Her legs did not want to work right but she did not fall. Not knowing what else to do, she silently fallowed after Tarvak who headed back inside.

                “Wait a second,” he said quickly before slipping through a door. She dully watched him go, and did not react at all when he returned and offered her a small jar. “For your burns,” he explained. Her neck did hurt, it had been burned when she woke this morning, and the added damaged done since then had done nothing to help. She took the jar, if only so he would stop looking at her. “Make sure to put it on before you go to bed and no more than three times a day,” he continued, acting like his offering had made everything better, smiling even. She held her tongue if only because he wouldn’t understand anyway.

                A few more halls and Tarvek paused. “We are almost at my sister medical room,” he explained. “There are a few things you need to know about her.”

 

                Even having been forewarned she was a bit disturbed as she took in the Princess’ form. The Princess sat in a backless chair, clothed in a simple shift and robe, both of which had to have holes cut into the back to account for the four large tubes that connected her to what looked like a casket. To say the least, that last thing she noticed was the fact that the girl before her was entirely made of metal. She had seen several clanks before now, but none like this.

                Anevka turned her head jerkily to her brother. “So this is the slave Father has gotten me?” she asked, her voice robotic and without inflection of any kind. “She doesn’t look like much.” 

                “Perhaps, but considering the lack of food and medical care she has been given she is quite impressive. She’s killed at least four men, maybe more, and her reflexes are incredibly sharp.” She gave a halfhearted glare towards the siblings from her spot in the doorway, even now annoyed by being talked about like she wasn’t there.

                “Is this from personal experience Brother?” Anevka asked with a grotesque imitation of a smirk, her mouth stretching far too wide. She turned to her, her movements shifting between inhumanly smooth, and incredibly jerky. Tarvek had said she was still learning to control her new body. “He’s hopeless at fighting,” she told her in a stage whisper, “frustrates all of his teachers to tears.”

                She stoically stared back. That did not sound anything like the Tarvek she had seen, so obviously something was up. A quick glance towards Tarvek who was shuffling nervously only added to that.

                “Humph, a quite one aren’t you” Anevka said after a moment, “granted Father did tell me about your little problem.” She tapped at her own throat. She turned again to her brother. “Does she have a name, or will I have to make something up.”

                Before Tarvek could open his mouth, she stood up straight and said in the firmest tone she could muster, “Zeetha Skifandias.” Both siblings stared at her as if she had suddenly grown a second head. She stayed firm; she had lost far too much to accept the loss of her name.

                “Well then,” Anevka said in a way that Zeetha could just tell was mocking. “That’s settled. I’m sure we will get along great, Zee-tha.” Zeetha grit her teeth at the purposeful mangling of her name, but stayed silent anyway.

                Then Anevka turned away from her, dismissing her presence entirely, “so Tarvek how is my new voice coming along?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zeetha Skifandias - Zeetha of Skifander


	5. In which Zeetha has time to think

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for missing Monday. Real life happened. So I have two chapters coming for you.

                 It was night, though Zeetha only knew that because of the sudden quite around the castle and the fact that Anevka had retired to bed. Even though she was now robotic, the brain that still lived in the casket still needed its rest. Zeetha had been given a small cot that they had set up in Anevka’s medical room where they would stay until Anevka was more capable of movement and other things.

                Zeetha sat up against the wall on her cot, staring at the ceiling. The collar around her neck felt as if it was an anchor pulling her down. She had thought if she played the system, stayed low and observed she might actually get the chance to get out, to escape. She had been proven wrong before she had even gotten a chance try. She was not a Nado’ku, a gifted, a spark. Nothing she had learned from watching her mother would help her with this. She was trapped. Her cell may be large, but it felt much smaller than the brig on the pirate ship. The pirate ship she was beginning to think may have never existed, had simply been another fever dream.

                She wasn’t sure how long she had been shuttled from place to place, slaver to brothel, brothel to slaver. The first few months she had been almost constantly ill, and once that had passed she had been quickly given less and less food as she proved just how dangerous she could be before they had resorted to stronger and stronger drugs. She had so many blackouts the last few months that in her worst moments she feared that she may not have fought off everyone who tried to push themselves on her. It was only the whispered frustration of slavers about how she killed all of her so called “clients” that gave her any comfort.

And before that, before the constant selling and buying was just a fuzz of blurry memories. She would swear that she had been on some kind of airship with a team of explorers. That she had joined them to learn about the outside world on behalf of her mother the War Queen. But she would also swear that there had been furniture on the ceiling, strange garbled voices from nowhere, flashes of electric blue…

                And Skifander, oh Skifander. She could remember strong swords that shined of polished steel, gifted by a cousin, one of her best friends. How proud she had been as she earned her full warrior bands by the skin of her teeth, even though she had been in a bad place at the time. She had worn them proudly, even as she continued to wear the headband she had been given when she was initiated. A spark work that was meant to teach them how to control their emotions instead of hide them. It had been her right to take it off when she became a full warrior, she had chosen not to.

                She had none of those now. No swords that she had seen since this whole thing stated had looked anything like her quata’ara.  Her forehead was empty, and her bands had been stripped from her, her arms bare since she had been awake enough to tell.  Her language, Skiff, deemed nothing more than the babble of a brain damaged slave, no one even bothering to think it could be its own language. It along with her name was the last thing she had of Skifander, of home.

                But what, what if they were right. She still had the scar on her temple from where she had fallen. What if everything she said really was babble? How would she be able to tell? Nobody had ever reacted when she mentioned Skifander, and she had tried to mention it to everyone she met, even people that she probably shouldn’t have.

                What if that pirate had been right, what if Skifander had been nothing but a fever dream? Her memories, her mother, her cousins all warped from the truth due to illness. It was all like a vague and horrific dream.

                And in the end what did it matter anymore, Skifander real or not, was far from her. And the only chance she had of going home had been killed by a shallow moat and a thin strip of steel. Her view of the ceiling blurred, and she lifted a hand and touched her cheek. It was wet. She was crying. She leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eyes.

                She could remember when “War Princess don’t cry” had been her mantra, back as an unsworn and in the early years as an apprentice. As a Notwan among cruel children. What did that make her now, not a Princess Guardian that was for sure, not even a War Princess.

 The only princess here was a clockwork one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nado'ku - A "Gifted" aka a spark.  
> quata’ara - The official names for Zeetha's swords from the novels  
> Unsworn - A child who hasn't been initiated into the war clan yet, usually under 6.  
> Notwan - A slur for a person whose twin still lives and as such they are not a whole person. Gil's disappearance didn't solve every problem.


	6. In which the Baron makes a discovery

                 “Lookey Brodders at vat hy found at de tieves market in Milan,” Adi said as he collapsed into one of the chairs at The Admiral's Arms, one of the four bars that had been added to castle Wulfenbach after the Baron acquired the Jägers. In Adi’s arms was a holster that carried two swords of a particular make. Adi fancied himself a weapons collector, though he did not have the room to keep as many weapons as he would like on board, so many of his brothers found themselves gifted with new weapons. Adi considered having owned it briefly good enough to consider it part of his collection. He expected the weapons to be treated properly though, woe be it a brother caught not taking care of one of his collection.

                “Ohh,” said one of his brothers, Cezar as he rested his hooved feet on an empty chair, “Vell aren’t doze fancy, never seen blades vith a horizontal hilt before, not on a blade dat big.”

                Adi nodded, “Ja, und lookey,” he pulled one of the blades from its sheath. It was split down the middle. “Perfeck for katchink odder pipple’s svords.” The group he was with awed over the blade.

                “Hy bet dat’s schpark vork,”Grigore said with a keen eye. “Made for zumone schpecial Hy vould tink, vith hall dat decoration,” he scratched at the three horns that just poked out of his chin. They had just started growing in and itched horribly, “bot practical too, made to use.”

                Suddenly there was a bit of a commotion outside, and Petre came running in, swerving around booths, making a flying leap over a bench, and sliding under the table the four were sitting at. Cezar took a long suffering gulp of his mug of ale, and peeked under the table.  “Vats hyu do now?”

                “Noddink!” Petre cried, then quieter. “If de Baron schows up Hy hain't here.” The four shared a look agreeing to do no such thing, and fell back into their conversation.

                “So vo are hyu tinkink uf givink it to?” Grigore asked. It was rare that Adi heled onto a weapon for more than a day or two, or even bought one without an idea of with whom it would eventually wind up with.

                “Hy don’t know,”Adi admitted. “Dey’re really nize blades, Hy might vant to hold on to dem for a vile, try dem out my-“He was interrupted by the door slamming open, and by the looming presence of the Baron taking its place. The noise in the bar died instantly. Petre let out a whimper. The Baron strode in casually with his hands behind his back, the Jägers closest to him slinking back.

                He stopped not far from Adi’s table, and began to scan the room. “I am looking for Petre,” he started simply. It still impressed Adi that the Baron could remember all their names, the only one he did not know were those poor saps that had been detached. “He-“ he stopped, staring directly at Adi’s table, noticing Petre huddling under it.

                At least that’s what Adi thought, so when the Baron shouted at him he jumped badly.

                “Where did you get those?”

                “…Vat?”

                “The swords, where did you get them?”

                “Uh, Milan, sir.”

                “From who?’ his voice cracked, in a strange way sounding just as desperate, as it did angry. Adi slumped a little, his ears folding back.

                “Chust zumone from de tieves marked, he hed a vole bunch uf schtuff, not chust veapons und he did not giff out his name.”

                “How much?”

                “…huh?”

                “How much for the swords?”

                “Hy, uh, Hy paeed 200 hundred krowns for dem.”

                “I’ll give you 500.”

                “Uh…Hokay.”

                “I’ll have the money sent to your room,” He said reaching out for the swords.  Adi gave them to him with a slight shake of his hands. “And I want to see you at my office at seven hundred hours tomorrow.”

                “Hokay.”

                He left, and slowly the chatter returned as different Jägers tried to guess what was going on. Adi blinked a few time between his empty hands and the door. “He really vanted doze svords.”

                “Yeah, Hy vonder vat dat hall vas about,”Cezar murmured as he finished his mug.

                Petre crawled out from under the table, pushed Cezar’s feet off the chair and sat down. Cezars scowled and threw his empty mug at his head. “Vo kares Brodder, Hy’m buyink hyu a drink, hyu chust saved my life, Hy broke vun uf his vaffle makers.”


	7. In which Anevka comes to a startling discovery

Two weeks passed and the burn on Zeetha’s neck healed. Anevka was moved back into her old quarters, and Zeetha returned to the room she had woken up in. She grew stronger as well with each meal she was given and she was beginning to regain some of her lost weight.

Her door was left unlocked, so that she could jump out and defend the Princess if there was need. Of which there had been. Three times in two weeks she had killed someone trying to attack Anevka, and at least one had looked so similar to Tarvek that she thought he must have been family. That was disturbing on more than one level and she did her best to ignore it.

The Prince Aaronev had joined them not long after she had met Anevka and had happily repeated his lesson on the collars mechanics. Unlike Tarvek, Anevka had tried out all three of the settings with noticeable amusement. Because of that, a week later as she checked her burn in the mirror she had noticed it had begun to scar. She had thrown her only blanket over the mirror after that and slept without.

 Not even a day later another blanket, along with several changes of the uniform she was wearing had appeared on her bed. The uniforms fit near perfectly, and as she gained weight, new ones showed up and older ones disappeared. It had to be Tarvek’s work, and she did not know if she should feel disturbed by this or not, so she just ignored it.

After a week or so of good food and rest she no longer needed to sleep every night anymore, though she felt no need to advertise that. For the most part she just kind of stared at the ceiling. Not always needing to sleep was great, but once you learned how it tended to give one bouts of insomnia. If she really wanted to, it would be easy to leave her room, though she doubted she was allowed per say. She did not really care though; she did not care much for anything anymore. She had survived the last two weeks, but she had hardly lived. Everything she had done for the most part had been through an autopilot and through a wall of grey haze .

She had just begun to doze off when a jolt on her neck snapped her away. She blinked blearily at the doorframe, where Anevka stood with a far too wide grin. “Get up, we have things to do!” She had been doing that a lot, using the collar as a means to get her attention for the most pointless tasks. It made her wonder if she was the doll on strings and not her.

Still she got up and pulled her jacket on, buttoning it so it hid her collar. She refused to wear the night clothes she had been given. She joined the princess and her strongmen in the hallway. There was a new one replacing the one who had died during the last botched assassination attempt. Zeetha looked away and swallowed her guilt. His death at least she hadn’t wanted and she could still taste the bitter taste of failure on her tongue.

“I’ve had a most wonderful idea,” Anevka said as they began to walk, Zeetha trailing just behind. “And I haven’t been in my lab since the…accident.” It was hard to notice, even though Tarvek had upgraded her voice, but her tone almost sounded… bitter. Zeetha glanced up through her eyelashes. That was new. She did not know much about the lab accident that had almost killed Anevka other than it had been her fathers. Everything else was a mystery that she hadn’t cared for knowing. She was surprised to feel some lost curiosity bubble up inside her.

They were approaching a section of the castle Zeetha had never been before. There was less overt decoration, though if you looked hard enough you could see it was still there. She hadn’t thought the Sturmvoraus knew the meaning of subtle, a least not with their sense of decoration. Anevka continued to babble away, something about upgrading her voice. Zeetha did not really bother to listen, she wasn’t expected to anyway.

They entered one of the rooms, a lab, and Anevka did a little twirl to the panic of her strongmen who tried to keep up in the limited space. Zeetha settled back next to the door in a slump.  Keeping an eye on a spark as they did work wasn’t anything new. As far as Zeetha was concerned as long as nothing was about to explode everything was alright.

Anevka puttered around pulling a few things out of cabinets and drawers humming in a way that a human could not wish to match. Slowly at first, enough that Zeetha barely noticed the change, she began to hesitate, grabbing things and then putting them back, or forgetting something out of a cabinet she had grabbed other things from. This went on until she had a bunch of materials in front of her and yet she did not move.

The humming became erratic; she made a few false starts on her project only to back away last minute. She grabbed a tool, only to place it back down. She began to hunch in on herself. Zeetha watched this all with a raised eyebrow, and pressed lips. Anevka was strange to watch, but once you got passed the metal exterior she was like any other, albeit twisted, human. She emoted quite regularly, even things like sighs and huffs which she couldn’t actually do without lungs. Sometimes though she didn’t and Zeetha wasn’t quite sure what to make of that.

 She was pacing, so sudden that she nearly tripped up her strongmen. She pulled at her wig as she muttered too low for Zeetha to understand. Then her wig was across the room and several of the components she had gathered was clattering on the floor. Her strongmen huddled in on themselves, to terrified of punishment to run, as Zeetha jumped to attention. She eyed the lab like she was a starved predator as she took several false breaths and clutched and declutched her hands.

After a tension filled moment of calm she twirled on her toe and sat heavily on a stool. Her hands coming down in rage, leaving perfect imprints on the thick metal tables. Zeetha eyed them warily.

“My Spark!” she roared, then hutched all the tension leaving her body. “It’s gone,” she whispered. She did not move and slowly Zeetha exchanged glances with one of the strongmen who was trying and failing not to shake. Then she glanced back at Anevka who sat huddled on her stool, her entire world having been rocked and brought to its knees.

For once Zeetha felt bad for her.

“Mor danorn ni,” Zeetha murmured as she approached softly and rested a hand on Anevka’s shoulder.

She turned, eyes actually flashing and snarled, “Liga eam anima.” Zeetha fell to her knees as the world burst into a thousand lights. She waited for it to stop, it had to stop eventually, but it did not. Screaming she could just identify as hers just touching her ears, sounding like nothing more than an echo from far away. Slowly the world faded away and with it thankfully the pain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mor danorn ni - I do apologize/ I am sorry


	8. In which Zeetha wakes once again

                She woke slowly, painfully and with no illusion that she was dreaming, just to breathe was a challenge, first to get her lungs to move at all, and then to force it through her throat. Each breath made her throat feel like it was getting branded over and over again.

                A hand touched her wrist and Zeetha tried to jerk it away but only managed a twitch. Her ears buzzed, making it impossible to hear much of anything, let alone who was with her. She blinked her eyes open and flinched at the bright light over her bed. There was a strange beeping to her right that sped up as something moved on her face. Her chest hitched, which did not help her throat in any way.

                “It’s alright,” a voice calmed. “It’s just me, Tarvek, you are alright but you need to calm down.” Better than the Prince at least she guessed closing her eyes. She hurt. “Slow shallow breaths, that’s it.”

                She raised a hand and carefully touched her throat ignoring Tarvek’s pleas. Just above her collarbone, where the collar normally rested was a thick wad of bandages. For a second she thought she was free before realizing that the collar was still there, just pushed up. Her stomach dropped and she let out an incredibly painful sigh.

                “I’m sorry,” Tarvek said from above. Zeetha blinked her eyes open to look at him and was surprised to see plain naked concern written all over his face. None of the false body language he often employed to fool people, not hidden behind it either. He looked exhausted. He looked away once he realized she was staring at him. “I never would have thought…That Anevka would do that.” Zeetha closed her eyes, finding herself strangely touched, and uncomfortable with being so.

                “You did not die if you’re wondering,” he broke the silence, as he cleaned his glasses. Zeetha figured that was pretty obvious considering that she was currently, if rather painfully, breathing. “Though it was a close thing, you stopped breathing for a while.”

                She listened with half an ear as she lifted her right arm to find a bunch of bandages wrapped tightly around it, and a tube coming from it and over to her right. She tried to look where it went only to wince as she realized moving her neck right now was a bad idea.

                “It is an IV,” Tarvek explained. “It is keeping you hydrated.” He pointed to her other arm where a thick metal ring was locked tight against her wrist. “That’s keeping track of your heart beat; it is connected to the machine making that nose. It was pretty erratic earlier but it seems to have stabilized.” He then tapped the thing tied to her head; she looked down as best she could and could just make out the top of some kind of metal contraption.  “That’s helping you breath, so don’t take it out.” She snorted, and then regretted it.

                “It is going to take time for you to heal,” Tarvek sighed. “So don’t try to speak, and you won’t be able to eat or drink anything for a couple of days, so the IV will have to say in.” he sighed again and got up to check something beyond her field of vision. “The burns around your neck are not as bad as they could have been, but they are not good either. I will get you more of that burn cream.” He paused, and then continued more quietly. “I am sorry I could not get the collar off, but if I had tried it you really would have died, as is the bandages will keep it off your burn.” Zeetha closed her eyes, wishing faintly that he had tried anyway.

 “As soon as your IV is out you will be moved back to your rooms, and probably be put back on duty.” He did not sound happy at that at all, and in a way Zeetha understood. Tarvek was obviously a doctor of some kind, and from her experience with doctors they never thought you were ready to get back to work.

                Though, to be fair, most of the time back then they had been right. She clutched her teeth and pushed the thought aside. She did not want to think of it. She also did not want to go back to babysitting an obviously insane princess either, not that she had any choice in the matter.

                There was a light knock at the door and she could hear Tarvek freeze for a second before he walked over to answer it. There was some muffled talking before she heard the creak of the door open all the way. “It is for you,” Tarvek announced walking back towards her, his voice controlled and even. Zeetha opened her eyes and was surprised when instead of the increasingly common fear; she felt anger boil up inside her.

                Framed by the doorframe was Princess Anevka. Zeetha tried to bare her teeth only to be stopped by her respirator, so instead her eyes narrowed. The silence stretched on between them and Tarvek refused to let himself get pulled in and instead fussed over some charts on the other side of the room. Finally Anevka let out a fake but subconscious sigh, looking away. That’s when Zeetha realized how timid she was acting, how honestly timid she was acting. She was hunched, holding one arm to her with the other.

                “I’m sorry,” she finally sighed, “I don’t.” her face flashed with true honest fear. “Don’t know what came over me.” Zeetha watched as she looked down and then glanced over at Tarvek who looked openly concerned. She sighed through her nose and gave a little shrug.

                Anevka blinked at her, or at least did her closest approximation to a blink and then squared her shoulders. “Well okay then,” and with that the topic was over, and Zeetha no longer mattered. She strode over to her brother, dragging her strongmen into the room, and pulling him into a conversation in some language neither Zeetha nor the strongmen knew.

                Zeetha rolled her eyes. She had accepted the apology because she could tell it had been sincere, but also because she really didn’t have a choice. Not accepting it wouldn’t have gotten her collar off, her freed; it would just make life more difficult. She also could tell that the apology had been less about her getting hurt, nearly killed really, then it being that Anevka had lost control at all. She felt guilty about the situation, but was more bothered about her loss of control. She was also completely insane, something Zeetha believed Tarvek must know as well. Something had gone wrong when she was put into the clank, something more than just the loss of her spark.

                She was going to have to be more careful, keep a better eye on things.


	9. In which Zeetha is invited to dinner

                Over the next couple of months Zeetha got better at reading Tarvek. Not only could she usually tell when he was hiding his natural body language, she began to pick up the subtle cues he let off to what he was actually feeling, and in some ways thinking. Him clumsily cleaning his glasses, that was him faking it, but when it came off as smooth and practiced, that was, surprisingly, when he was genuinely nervous or uncomfortable. A thousand and one repressed twitches and movements made reading him easier, made trusting what he said easier, and when not to.

                And as she was learning this, she was also witness to how body language as a whole began to die out of Anevka. Slowly all the little quirks and unique expression she had all but disappeared. Until there was barely anything left of that girl who had peeked out during the apology. Sure she still smiled or frowned, hid her face behind a fan, or covered her mouth as she laughed, but these were all perfectly coordinated little actions. Not natural in the least. A puppet acting for an audience to get what the puppet master wanted. Just in this case the puppet and the puppet master were one in the same.

                Zeetha watched this happen silently, but not alone. Tarvek also watched, then denied, then watched again. He was constantly upgrading her, giving her new capabilities, especially her voice, always her voice. How often she had watched as Tarvek retuned her voice. As Anevka demanded it changed, never satisfied.

                She had begun to wonder if he was getting obsessed. Then she had to wonder why she was concerned by that at all, when she was watching her charge die day by day and yet felt nothing.

                The Prince of course seemed obvious, but then as far as Zeetha was concerned, he was more insane than his daughter.

                It was a change to say the least when a servant burst into the lab to announce that the Prince was throwing a last minute dinner for some family Zeetha had never heard of, and that both were required to attend. Both siblings tensed at that and because of that so did Zeetha. Whatever was going on had to be big if it got what was left of Anevka to respond. She worried her lip as the servant left and the two fell into a hushed conversation in that unknown language. She expected it was less because of her and more because of the Strongmen who got to go home after their shifts.

                “Fulmen,” Anevka snapped. Zeetha did not even react she had gotten far to use to the minor shock. She glanced over with a thin frown. Anevka pulled her wig back on her head as Tarvek began pulling off wires. “You’re going to need to put on your good uniform, you’re coming too.” Zeetha tilted her head, faintly remembering the overly decorated uniform that she had stuffed into the bottom drawer. “And wash your hair, your letting it go all tangled and greasy again.”

                Tarvek jolted a little at that, “are you sure that’s such a good idea?”

                “She is supposed to be my bodyguard Tarvy dear,” Anevka mocked walking over to Zeetha who leaned against a wall. “And it was not like she could tell anyone anything anyway, could you Dearie.” She tried to pat her cheek but Zeetha recoiled barring her teeth. She laughed. “And if she doesn’t like it well, she’ll just have to deal with it.” This time she tapped the collar and Zeetha snapped.

                “Morat budmat alu,” she snarled as she jumped away from her. Clenching her hands to avoid doing anything more. Anevka frowned.

                “Inpulsa,” she snapped. Zeetha jumped and grit her teeth. “Now behave, if you act out like that at the dinner you’ll be punished.” She turned away and tapped at her metal cheek. “And since we can’t have people knowing of that collar of yours, well I guess I will have to have everyone who sees it killed.”

                Zeetha paled and glared silently. Anevka smirked. “That’s better.” She turned on her heel. “It’ll be best if you don’t try and speak at all,” she mused out loud. “Let them think you’re the strong silent type, more intimidating I think than you babbling nonsense.”

                Zeetha glanced at the ground. It still hurt to have Skiff declared nothing more than nonsense, even though she wasn’t helping that in anyway. A month or so back she had noticed that Tarvek was paying an alarming amount of interest to what she said the few times she spoke. Skiff was her language, the last thing she had left of Skifander, dream or not. She had no desire to share it with anyone, not even the only person she had any trust in. Even if it was just the trust that he’d feel guilty should she die.

                So she began to mess with him, first by screwing with her grammar until it could be barely understood, then by just listing several completely unrelated terms together and finally by mixing in some words from one of the Dark languages.

                She had been more than surprised when she had done so the first time, having done it without thinking. As soon as she had some privacy she had tried all three of the ones she had known and while they were a bit more uncomfortable than they had been to speak, she could speak them. It made her wonder about Romanian, she had been, if not fluent, than at least conversational in it, before she had even left… wherever she had been, thanks to her mother and uncle. Could she speak Romanian? Maybe, but she really did not want to, nor did she want to lose the security she had by being the brainless idiot. So she did not.

                Still for a brief while it had given her hope that Skifander had to be real. Sure she could make up one language, but four different ones.  Then reality and its doubts snuck in. Until finally she decided it did not matter anymore whether Skifander was real or not, and she pushed the thoughts aside.

                That said she had driven Tarvek mad with her sudden change of speaking, and words suddenly changing meaning midsentence. Her favorite had been when she had seriously examined a chair, and after several seconds had babbled off ten words, none of which had anything to do with the chair, or any chair at all. She even later found out that he kept a record of what he thought of Skiff, and she had got a good laugh at some of his theories and beliefs. She made sure to keep any eye on it, to keep track of any words he had guessed right, so she could mess with him further.

                To be honest it was the most fun she’s had in ages.

                The little Anevka knew of her brothers trials she found amusing and took it as proof that Zeetha could do nothing but babble, which was incredibly useful if sometimes hurtful.

                Several hours later Zeetha along with the most handsome of her Strongmen escorted Anevka to dinner. Zeetha shrugged uncomfortably, the heavy jacket and other clothes were scratchy and had been heavily starched. They were incredibly confining and far from what Zeetha would call formal wear. At least her normal uniforms were comfortable and not to tight, Tarvek hadn’t kept up with this one as he had done with the others. Or at least she hoped it wasn’t supposed to be this tight.

                They met Tarvek not far from the formal dining hall with a young lady on his arm and the rest of her family coming in from behind. Zeetha blinked, she had not seen Tarvek interact with anyone but his sister and father, let alone a lady. She raised an eyebrow at him from her place behind Anevka, and then frowned when he avoided her eye. She scanned him as he turned to introduce her sister, and give a brief explanation for her form.

                He was tense even as he laughed at something the lady on his arm said. Everything from his smile, to the way he walked was fake. Zeetha bit her lip and glanced first at Anevka who simply smiled and responded to what the young women said, and then to the girls family, a preteen standing as serious as possible next to his father, a little boy in his mother’s arms.

                Something was about to go horribly wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Morat budmat alu - leave me alone
> 
> Dark Countries - In the third novel Zeetha makes mention that her mother is Queen of Skifander and the Dark countries. I figured they are probably vassals of some kind.
> 
> Dark languages - Most of the different Dark Countries have their own languages, Zeetha as a War Princess of Skifander knows three at conversational level.


	10. In which Zeetha learns what’s going to go horribly wrong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warnings! Child Endangerment, Child death.

               Dinner started out pleasantly enough, and Zeetha was surprised to find that she was expected to eat as well.  The young lady who sat to the Prince’s right was named Lily and was also a spark of some ability. Her family was merchants from outside the Empire but was currently escorting one of their trading wagons to Mechanicsburg along with some hired help.

                Lily was the only spark in her family but she had apparently done some great things for the company. She was outgoing and to be honest Zeetha found her to be a bit naive, but from what little Zeetha understood through the fog of unfamiliar jargon, she was a major spark. She had helped repel an attack on one of Stumhulten’s vassal villages, and because of that the Prince had wanted to see her first thing and thank her himself. So much in fact he had sent out runners to meet them halfway from one village to another to invite them for dinner. They could hardly refuse.

                In all it seemed like a perfectly normal and even a nice thing for a ruler to do, so Zeetha was downright suspicious. While she had never seen the Prince do anything particularly immoral or monstrous, save buying her, that was enough to put him high on her radar. Coupled with the fact Tarvek still wasn’t meeting her eye made her uneasy and on high alert.

                Yet dinner went on. The Prince even ordered a servant to get a highchair for their youngest son, Mason, and laughed off his refusal to eat the food that had been prepared. Instead he had his cooks whip him up something he would eat. He listened patiently to some of the ideas Lily had come up with, and even offered his own suggestions, while also making small talk with her parents. Anevka allowed, without complaint, any questions about her new body, while also engaging her in something akin to girl talk. While Tarvek, well he seemed calm enough talking with the older son about his travels to Paris, but Zeetha could tell he was purposely avoiding talking to Lily, and was still not meeting anyone’s eye, looking at their nose if he must. He was usually better at hiding his feelings and thoughts than this.

                Even when the conversation finally turned to her and her presence at the table it was just brushed off as her being Anevka’s body guard, with a whispered explanation that she was mute. They all gave her pitying looks which she did her best to ignore, though Mason seemed enamored by her hair, pointing and telling everyone that it was green. She preferred that to the pitying looks, though his mother did not seem to share the idea. It amused her to be honest; growing up green hair had never been unusual. His rust colored hair was much stranger to her.

                It was just as she was beginning to relax and call herself paranoid when Lily’s father tried to steer the topic to them leaving. Unlike the rest of his family he had been the only one to seem even the slightest bit uncomfortable during dinner; at the most the others were simply a bit nervous.

                “It is so late,” The Prince began. “Perhaps I could offer you a room for the night,” he offered. “I’m sure Tarvek here would love to get your daughters opinion on some of his projects.” Tarvek turned a strange mix of red and purple at that.

                “We would love to,” The father answered with a slight accent looking even more uncomfortable and even a little miffed. “But we really must get back to our wagons; it was nice of you to leave a guard to help watch them but we really must be going to stay on schedule.”

                “Of course, of course,” the Prince replied easily, “just let me offer one last toast for your daughter’s skill and bravery.” The father did not seem happy at the idea but neither could he say no, so he nodded. As if this was a cue servants came pouring out from a hidden door with a trays of drinks. Strangely each servant carried only one drink. The drinks were placed down in front of everyone but Anevka and Mason. The older son’s eyes lit up and he made to reach for it only to get a slap on his hand from his mother who moved it from his reach. He pouted and crossed his arms over his chest.

                Zeetha followed everyone else’s lead for the toast, and took a big gulp of the Champaign it held. Like any of the alcohol she had been given since she’s arrived here, which was very little, it tasted rather watered down from what she was used to.  She looked up from her cup and was surprised to see that the mother, who sat right in front of her, wave in her seat. Looking down to the other end of the table, where the father sat facing the Prince she found him also waving in his seat, his mouth opening and closing a few times but without making any sound. It was Lily who fell first, right into the remnants of her pie. Her parents followed soon after.

                “Mom Dad,” the older son breathed, “Lil?” he turned to his sister, fear and panic dawning on his face. He leapt from his chair and grabbed his younger brother from his and begun to back away. With one look Zeetha could tell that while Lily still breathed, her mother and father were already gone. Dropping her glass she looked up in time to see a man with a sword grab the boys from behind. Mason was crying.

                “Sir,” the guard asked calmly as the boy tried to escape without losing hold of his younger brother. The Prince looked away from Lily with noticeable effort and frowned.

                “If only she had let him drink,” he sighed and waved a hand looking away. “Kill the olde-“ Zeetha jumped before he could finish and collided with the guard just as her collar went off. Then she was on the ground, her body seizing and the best she could do was thrust an arm out in a point towards the door. The boy, who had fallen to the ground as well, grabbed his brother and ran just as Tarvek yelled something. The world went dark but she could still hear the bang that silenced the room. Finally the collar stopped, though she did not hear the ending word, and slowly her eyesight and hearing returned. First she heard the cries, second she saw the blood, and she wished she hadn’t.

                She had seen blood before, she had seen death before. She had been hunting since she was ten, she took part in the some of the Dark Country wars, and she had killed over a dozen assassins out after Anevka in the last couple months. None of that would ever prepare her for the sight of an eleven year old boy, whose biggest dream was to see Paris, choking on his own blood. His eyes rolling wildly and his hands trying and failing to grab his little brother who sat on the ground nearby wailing his head off, his brothers blood splattered all over his little suit and hair.

                Zeetha watched him die on that floor. She watched as they took his little brother away to be abandoned in one of the orphanages, she watched as Tarvek argued with and won the right to take the body away for one of his projects. She felt, rather than watched, as Anevka herself pulled her to her feet and did not say a word of her disobedience, instead carefully pulling her along as they followed her Father. She watched as Anevka froze at the entrance to an old temple, how her body had shaken and how her hand had grasped her arm. They watched as Prince Aaronev Wilhelm Sturmvoraus of Stumhulten, his eyes gleaming brightly and with a rant under his breath strapped Lily’s unconscious body into a machine. Watched as he raved and snarled and sobbed as all it did was turn the wonderfully bright, outgoing, naïve young women into a mindless husk.

                Then she was suddenly alone in her room, staring at a little bit of blood that stained her jacket. Later she would realize that was the last time the real Anevka poked out. That the poor brave boy of whom she did not even know his name, was not the only one who died that night.

                For the first time since she realized she was never leaving, Zeetha let herself cry.


	11. In which Zeetha and Tarvek come to an understanding

                Zeetha had nightmares for days after that. Days in which she was left alone as Anevka refused to leave her room. Pictures of Mason and his brother intertwined in her dreams with Zoniax her cousin. The fastest person she had ever known, so much faster than her. Who after learning Zeetha had tried and failed to prove that she was ready for real swords had demanded the same of her mother, Zeetha’s Aunt.

                She had done it in the courtyard in front of a bunch of unsworn and apprentices. Having already lasted longer that Zeetha had without breaking anything or hurting herself she had grown extra cocky and had jumped on a bench with it, swinging it around wildly. That’s when she had tripped.

                She had been dead before she hit the ground. Zeetha had gotten blood on her then too.

                They had been seven. Even when she had left at nineteen no Apprentice tried to prove that they could wield the swords, many had been terrified to try even after being told they were ready.

                Four days of solitude and something in Zeetha snapped. Her room was crushing her, choking her just like her collar. She needed to get out. She jumped to her feet and swayed as the days without food caught up to her. Yet she ignored the untouched food tray that had been left by her door and instead bolted from her room. Stopping suddenly when she realized she was in the hall, as if confused by the sudden change of locations. Looking both ways she tore to the left and then to her right.

                She almost dashed right into a group of servants and after that she slowed. Even it did not take long before she found herself trapped between a bunch of servants and a patrol of guards. Her head whipped from left to right as she tried to find a way out, any way out, before she decided on fighting. It would be fun, eat up some of her pent up energy, and if she got shocked well with any luck she wouldn’t have to deal with anything anymore.

                Just as the patrol was going to turn the corner, arms reached out from behind her and pulled her back. In front of her a false wall closed just as the sound of boots reached it. She fought herself out of the grapple and turned on a toe to look at her kidnapper, it was Tarvek.

                “It’s me! What a-“she punched him hard in the face. He gaped in surprise and barely managed to block the next one. He had known that was coming. He had done nothing. He had taken that brave boy’s body away for one of his own sick experiments. Zeetha roared and Tarvek barely managed to avoid blow after blow. Even after four days of not eating she was much stronger now than she had been, and Tarvek found himself being pushed up the tunnel even as he tried to reason with her, gaining bruise after bruise.

                She had trusted him, even if only a little bit, she had trusted him. Now, now all she wanted to do was put her own hole through his chest; let him feel what it was like as he laid gasping on the floor, watching his own blood pool to the ground. She wanted him dead, and then they would kill her.

                Tarvek seemed to really panic as they exited the small tunnel and entered the room at its end. Both of his eyes were black, his nose had been broken, and one of his ears was bleeding along with a thousand other bruises that were beginning to swell. Her eye’s blurred, she did not think any of his blows had landed on her, she was crying again. “Stop!” he yelled at the top of his lungs. “If you don’t stop you might hurt him!” He managed to momentarily grab hold of one of her hands and twist her to look at the rest of the room.

                Zeetha paused.

                Laid out on a thin cot, hooked up to a thousand and one wires, was him. A slow but steady beeping pounded in her ears and it took a moment for her to realize that it wasn’t her but from one of the dozens of machines that surrounded his small form. Suddenly she was back, after she had nearly been electrocuted to death, to when Tarvek had been explaining the different medical equipment she had been on.

                But that meant… that meant he was alive. He had said she hadn’t died back then but she had thought he was being stupid and obvious. Uncertain she glanced over her shoulder at Tarvek who gazed sadly down at the boy.

                “I managed to bring James back but…” he sighed and rubbed at his chin which had a fortnight of stubble. “He still needs those machines to live, and I don’t know how much damage his brain may have taken, at the very least his memory is going to be spotty.” He collapsed into a chair, letting go of his grip on her forearms in the process. Not seeming to care if she decided to use him for punching bag again. “This really is not my cup of tea, I nearly failed Monsieur Blanc lab ‘Bringing people back to life without the lightning.’ “  He pulled off his glasses and rubbed at his temples, “I can’t believe I’m saying this but I wish that Cad Gil was here, he always aced Monsieur Blanc’s lectures. I don’t really know what to do now”

                Zeetha ignored him as he began a mumbled and exhausted rant into his hand. James, his name was James. He looked tiny surrounded by all the machines, only a blanket giving him any modesty. Thick bandages were wrapped around his chest and it was only the beeping to their left let her know that he was alive.

                She turned on her heel and marched right up to Tarvek who startled awake from a doze. He blinked up at her warily and flinched as she thrusted a hand at him, only for it to stop short in a point.

                “Huh?”

                “…what,” he asked blearily replacing his glasses. He looked horrible and that was before you added all the damaged she had done to him. Zeetha refused to feel any guilt.

                “Huh?” she repeated waving her other arm in a vague “all this” gesture. She was tired of all these secrets that plagued this castle; she was tired of not knowing what was going on. What justification let an elven year old get shot, what justification was there to forcefully destroy a bright young lady, to orphan a two year old?

                Tarvek blinked up at her and then down at her hand. He sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Everything, that’s going to take a while,” Zeetha frowned at him and crossed her arms. “Alright, alright.”

                He frowned at the ceiling gathering his thoughts, “My father met this woman named Lucrezia in college and it wasn’t long before he became…well to be honest obsessed.”

                Tarvek went on for hours, at first reluctantly but soon he began to ramble in earnest backtracking left and right. Zeetha had a feeling he had wanted to tell someone, anyone, for a long time and was annoyed that it was to her that he did.  She couldn’t do anything, but that was the point wasn’t it.

                Everything he tried to brush over something Zeetha did not understand, she would say “Huh,” and make him elaborate. He was surprised to realize she had never even heard about the Other’s attack let alone know any details about it. Zeetha bit her tongue and clutched her fists as she listened to his explanation of slaver wasps and their hives. Consent was one of the biggest values in Skifander and to learn of something that could void it so completely without anyone being the wiser made her sick. She learned of the zombie revenants, and of the secret hidden ones and how they were the majority. She learned how almost everyone in Stumhulten that wasn’t a spark was one, had been since Tarvek was three.

                He admitted that he had known of his family’s connection to the Other since he was a small boy, how he almost told the Baron about it when he had been his hostage but had refrained in fear of his reaction, terrified that he would destroy Stumhulten and everyone in it as he did with the zombie revenants.

                How after he had been sent home he had learned that his father had opened the doors for the Geisterdamen and their machines while he was gone. How they now lived deep under the castle and rarely came up. How they were the ones who helped create the machine his father kept using on sparks. How it was supposed to bring back Lucrezia.

                He told her about how his father had gone through girl after girl, moving from anyone, to sparks, to only the greatest of sparks over the years. How because of him and the Geisterdamen there was now barely any female sparks left in Europa. How he had been oblivious to all of this until he got that frantic call to return from Paris about his sister. How he had wanted to blow up at his Father but had been too busy trying to save her life. How she was going mad each day he prolonged it.

                About the circus, about Tinka, about the Storm King, about being his heir, how their was other heirs competing with him, and spattered around it far more information than she ever need to know about one Gil Holzfäller.

                About the fact she wasn’t wasped was because Tarvek convinced the Prince that it would be a bad idea to put someone the Geisterdamen could control in charge of his daughters care. That she owed him her free will.

                And then finally about how he had thought his father would stop after what happened to Anevka. How he had been wrong.

                Zeetha collapsed against the nearest wall, sliding down until she was sitting. She pinched her nose, took a deep breath, and sighed. That was, that was a lot to go through, a lot to think over. She glanced up at Tarvek who stared at the ceiling, as he twirled his glasses in one hand.

                It wasn’t his fault she would give him that, he had no control, no power in this castle, not if he wanted to live. She had seen four different Smoke Knights come and go since she had got here and that was for the Tarvek that wasn’t much of a threat.

                Still he had sat back and done nothing. Well she couldn’t say that. Considering where she was and who was lying next to her, alive by some miracle. But that did not change the fact that if given the chance the Prince would do it again, that more and more residence were being fed a wasp as they grew, that dozens of those hives sat below them. It did not even look like he had ever thought of sabotage or anything of the sort. It did not help that every forth line he spouted was an excuse, even when one wasn’t needed. He was desperate to be excused from the actions that happened here, while still resigned to the fact that he was the bad guy. He did not try to change that, change anything, and that pissed Zeetha off.

                So she kicked him in the leg.

                “Ow, what was that for,” he yelped rubbing his shin. Zeetha gave him a dark glare. She tried to say something in Romanian but her throat closed up, so she shook her head and tried again in Skiff.

                “Zur matat ban ni,”<You need to do something> she uttered getting to her feet. He couldn’t just sit around and let everything happen around him, not anymore, not if he did not want to be the villain. “Mat ni gini, mat ni danoni,” <Stop ignoring it, stop denying it> she stepped closer to him with each word, before she grabbed the arms of his chair and leaned over, forcing eye contact. “Mat ni alat.” <Stop excusing it.>

                Tarvek stared up at her and sweated a little. “I don’t really know what you are saying, what do you want me to do.” Zeetha closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

                “Mat tok, mat bal,” <fight it, change it> she urged raising her arms before pointing at him again. Tarvek stared at her, than looked away. Zeetha leaned back frustrated and rubbed the bridge of her nose.

                “What can I do?” he sighed. Zeetha stared at him for a while, then shrugged one shoulder and pointed at him. It was up to him to figure that out on his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zoniax - Zeetha's canon cousin according to the novels, probably died the first time she held a real sword.  
> Huh - I once read that the sound "huh" was pretty much universal in all languages as a sign of confusion.


	12. In which Zeetha dances

               Two days later Tarvek had done all he could do for James and, using what limited resources he had, had him shipped away from the castle and sent to Mechanicsburg where, he assured her, all the best doctors were. She knew this because she had taken to midnight exploration around the castle, and made a point to check up on him and his labs, of which he had many, each more hidden than the last. It was because of her urging that he had also quietly had Mason retrieved from the orphanage and sent along.

                Communication was difficult at first, Zeetha tried a few times to speak Romanian but no matter the subject it just wouldn’t come. So they were resigned to looks and gestures to get their meanings across, or at least Zeetha was. Though she had realized she could, when forced, say names, though they came out somewhat strange. Saying Mason’s name had been what alerted Tarvek to what she wanted him to do. Still as more time passed their handful of gestures with meanings grew, as did their ability to understand each other without them. Complex thoughts and ideas could still be troublesome, but at least it was a start. It also let them have mini conversations when surrounded by other people.

                Such as when a month after James had been sent away she learned of Tarvek and Anevka’s plan to overthrow their father. From the start she did not like this plan but she managed to hold her tongue until she was alone with Tarvek later that night.

                He was in Tinka’s lab, going over his notes and trying to find some connection he had missed that could help the poor clank. Zeetha glared at him from across the room even as Tinka tried to pull her into a dance. In her hand was a strange cylinder like device. Twirling it between a few fingers she pointed it at him and drew an X on his lower back with a little red dot. Tinka gave her a disproving look; Zeetha just flashed a grin back.

                “You are the one who insisted that I had to do something,” he complained after a while, even as he refused to look up from his notes. Obvious the increasingly rude designs being drawn on his back. “This is something.”

                He could feel her disproval and loathing from across the room and hunched a bit. “Look what did you expect me to do, try and sabotage the hives? We are more likely to accidently set them free, and there’s no chance for me to get a closer look, they guard them to well.”

                He turned in his seat to give her a hard look. She easily hid the light in the palm of her hand. “Try and create a revolt with the townspeople, they are _wasped_ , and the Geisterdamen can control them. Try and turn the Geisterdamen to us? They are utterly loyal to their mistress and while they barely trust Father, they trust him far more than us.”

                He turned back to his seat and picked his notes back up. “Our research shows that revenants will obey Geisterdamen as long as it does not go against an order already given by their mistress, we learned that thanks to the incident with Loremistress Mistival. If we can tune Anevka’s voice to that of Lucrezia we’ll be able to deny the Geisterdamen control of the people of Stumhulten.”

                Zeetha let out a small hum, a sign for Tarvek to continue, elaborate, basically a “then what.” His shoulders tensed faintly before he relaxed. Zeetha's eyes narrowed and she smacked Tarvek with the little red dot from across the room, a faint smirk growing on her face.

                “Then if we have to we can stage a revolt, but hopefully that won’t be necessary. I rather do as little as possibly to draw the Baron’s eye,” the “hopefully we won’t have to kill my father” went unsaid, though Zeetha couldn’t see how that would be possible. Her smirk fell. She still did not like this plan, even if she could understand some of the whys about it. That did not stop the fact that it was obviously more Anevka’s plan than his, and that she would get much more from it than him. They weren’t telling her everything, and she knew Tarvek enough to know he had some scheme up his sleeve.

                She did not know why she was surprised; the Stumhulten economy ran off of secrets after all. She huffed and shared a glance with Tinka who had also stopped to listen. She suddenly stumbled and Zeetha offered an arm in case she needed help to find her balance. Tinka ignored it and managed to stay upright on her own.

                She bet his secret plan of his had something to do with his Storm King ambitions, but then that was a bit of a suckers bet. She had heard rumors about the many fractions and their plans for the Storm King, guessed that was why Tarvek played the fool, why he was so often targeted long after assassination attempts had slowed on Anevka. Over all she found Europa and its politics as hopelessly messy. For the longest time she had thought that Baron was the highest title one could have, only later to learn that is was among the lowest, yet a Baron ruled the empire. It was confusing but she tried to keep up, if only because she was going to be dragged into this whether she liked it or not.

                She respected Tarvek’s ability to manipulate the situation and people, but wasn’t much good at it herself, especially as she was, chained and muted, and with even less power than Tarvek the pawn had. That made it hard for her to try and create any kind of game plan. Not knowing what they were doing made it that much harder.

                Frustrated she let it go for now, they were stuck trying to match Lucrezia’s voice without any record of what it sounded like. She Snorted lightly as she played with the small device she had swiped from Tarvek’s table a day or so ago: A dim narrow red light, the red dot, an overly bright white one, and a strange bluish purple one. She shoved it in her pocket. Let him scramble around trying to find it, what did she care.

                Instead she let Tinka pull her up and teach her a new dance. Perhaps when she was done she’d teach her one of the dances of Skifander. She liked her quite a bit after all, and never had to be worried about her misinterpreting what she was trying to say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tinka, according to official sources, apparently is very good at Body language, so to say the least she and Zeetha get along well.


	13. In which the Baron Investigates

                The Great Hospital was as busy as ever when Baron Klaus Wulfenbach arrived. He ignored his guard and waved off the invitation to wait by one of the nurses and strode off to find Doctor Sun by himself. As he walked through the wards he debated his newest mystery.

                After finding a pair of Skifandrian Swords with Adi five months ago he had begun a search for their owner, since there had to be an owner. The swords were barely used. That meant that they had to be incredibly new as the people of Skifander did not believe in decorative swords, not in one made of steel. It was a waste of a highly useful and rare substance as Skifander did not have easy access to any iron. They were also rather decorative, and a closer look had him expecting spark work. This was interesting but not surprising. From his time in Skifander he knew that spark blacksmiths were not a rare thing.

                Since then he had personally journeyed to Milan to buy out and interrogate the seller of the swords. He had gotten absolutely no information from him, but he had gathered two golden armbands, and a headband he knew was Skifandrian. That told him more. Whoever was in his lands had been an adult as the bands were that of an adult who was a full member of her position. The headband on the other hand was worn by the children of the war family, so whoever it was they were still rather young as it was rare for a Djorok’ku to continue wearing it more than a few years after they become full warriors.

                To be honest he was worried, and not just about Gil who was relatively safe in Paris. Whoever had owned these, they would not have given them up without a fight. There was a good chance she may be dead. That saddened him more than he liked to admit, whoever they belonged to, she had been part of his wife’s family, at one point, his family. He may have even met them, though it was unlikely considering their assumed age. He had no ill will to anyone of Zanta’s family. Deep down he knew that they would have defended Gil to the death even if they disapproved. It wasn’t because of them he had fled.

                He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. Then he straightened and approached the room he had been told Dr. Sun was in. He was, deeply engrossed with a patients file, writing down something every so often. Klaus let him work and instead glanced around.

                There were two children in the room. One who couldn’t be more than twelve and was surrounded in machinery or which Klaus identified as common for post revivification. The other a toddler who slept quietly in a crib, he did not even have an IV or heart monitor.

                “So you have come for another round of vaccinations,” Dr. Sun asked as he replaced the file on the boy’s bed. “Good I was going to call you down anyway.”

                Klaus paused and glanced over to the Doctor. “A problem?”

                “Perhaps,” The Dr. Sun allowed as he navigated his was past the machines and wires that surrounded the boy’s bed. “These two showed up at the hospital not a week ago. This boy here had been in horrible condition. He had obviously just been revived recently, not badly necessary, but obviously by someone unpracticed.”

                “And the other?” Klaus inquired glancing at the sleeping toddler.

                “He is fine,” Dr. Sun affirmed with just a glance. “He is being kept here because his brother has a panic attack if their separated.”

                “Other family?”

                “That is the thing,” Dr. Sun said as he led the Baron from the room. “They showed up at one of the Hospitals side entrances, alone, nobody around, with this.” He handed Klaus a small letter.

                _His name is James, the younger one Mason. They are brothers; the rest of their family is dead. I did what I could do, but it is not enough._

                Klaus frowned as he looked over the letter twice more. There was no signature. “A minor spark that got to deep,” he suggested out loud. It wasn’t so rare an occurrence. A minor spark getting sucked into a major sparks work only to later realize what in entailed.

                “Perhaps,” Dr. Sun agreed as they entered a private room, an orderly behind them with several vials of vaccines. “His memory had major holes in it, as to expected, and the other is too young to have enough of a grasp on what happened.” He grabbed a cloth and some alcohol and began to clean a spot on Klaus’s arm. “The young one, Mason, can only remember a green monster that attacked him.” Klaus nodded as the first needle went in, monster attacks were common dangers around sparks. Perhaps a minion’s family got caught in the line of fire. “James can only remember what he calls “A green haired angel” who tried to protect them.”

                Klaus jumped just as Dr. Sun was going to stick him.

                Dr. Sun glared, “Stay still, since when were you jumpy around needles.”

                Klaus waved the comment away. “I’m not, but what was that about green hair?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone is interested to my headcanon for why Klaus fled, "Leaving Skifander" is pretty much canon to this story.


	14. In which Zeetha saves a life

                She had concerns when she was told there was going to be a party, but a quick glance at Tarvek who had shaken his head slightly eased them. This wasn’t about finding the “holy child” it was simply business as usual. It was nearing the winter solstice and the people of Stumhulten were preparing for a holiday called Christmas, though their seemed to be some confusion on how it was truly celebrated. Tarvek had mentioned something about their being seven Popes and left it at that. Zeetha did not ask for more. She was just glad, if a bit bemused, that their winter celebration wasn’t on the actual solstice itself. It would give her time to burn a candle. A pretty sad try at celebrating for Bilu Litik Nikias, but it couldn’t hurt to celebrate it a little.

                So she was kind of annoyed when she learned that, while they did not celebrate Christmas on the solstices, the big party the Prince was hosting was on it. Sometimes Europa made no sense to her at all. Still she put on her, new and fitting much better, good uniform, washed her hair and followed Anevka down the halls. This was going to be Anevka’s first big night among other people since she changed, and there was some concern of the public’s reaction.

                They were quickly joined by Tarvek who offered his arm in a flourish, his thumb subtly tapping his pointer finger, a sign that everything was going fine. Zeetha tilted her head in acknowledgment before looking forward.  The two stopped in the entrance hall and got into the practiced positions of people who have been doing this since they could walk. Zeetha was shooed to a side wall, where she would have a good eye of all the entering guests but not be in the direct line of site. There were also extra guardsmen in case something went off course.

                It wasn’t long before the first guests began to arrive. Zeetha leaned back against the wall and watched as they were first introduced at the door and then greeted personally by the royal children. She had never seen something like this before. Her mother was in charge of dealing with people outside of Skifander, not people within and they did not have many parties that involved outsiders considering Skifander was a secret city. So feast usually just involved the family, which to be fair could and had been over a hundred and fifty people. There were festivals that involved the other Queens but those took place in the Queens hall, under Skifander itself. Vaguely she wonders if the Civics Palace had ever hosted such events before shaking the thought off.

                She shifted and relaxed, but in the way a lion relaxes, and lazily watched the growing crowd. There were a lot of shocked faces, even though Anevka’s fate had been publicized, some frightened, others disgusted, many pitying. Zeetha glanced at them for a moment and if their reactions were genuine moved on. It was the ones who kept themselves composed, or even more so, the ones that hid behind fake smiles or frowns, those she kept an eye on.

                To be completely honest Zeetha wasn’t sure how much she cared if the clank that called herself Anevka died. Because Anevka was gone that she was sure, even if Tarvek hid from the truth. But failure would mean her death that she was sure, she had seen it done for less. A long time ago she stopped trying to remember the servant’s names; they changed to often and did not last around long enough for it to be of any use. Though to be fair many weren’t killed, just fired, blacklisted, and forced to move from town. Sometimes she wondered if that was their way of spreading the revenants.

                That wasn’t an option for her. If she failed the task given to her all she would be able to look forward to was a painful death. Wouldn’t that be a way to go, and during the Festival of Testing Skills no less. That would surely impress her ancestresses let alone Ashtara, showing how her skills have improved from a Princess Guardian of Skifander to a slave chained in a foreign land.

                She did not want to die, not like that.

                Zeetha scowled at her thoughts and pushed them aside roughly before focusing back on the swarm of people passing before her. She wasn’t too worried; assassination attempts had pretty much stopped the last few months, for Anevka at least. Tarvek had been targeted three times in the last month alone, the same amount of times she had been targeted in her entire childhood.

                She knew his new Storm Knight was around somewhere, but she doubted his effectiveness. Tarvek had been through four storm knights since she arrived, and had lost one just before. She liked Tarvek, as frustrating as he could be; he was the only thing that made her life tolerable. She frowned at that realization and pushed a strand of hair behind her ear.

                Finally all of the honored guest had been announced and greeted and the royal children were allowed to join them in the ballroom. Zeetha followed behind, glancing around the crowd as people were seated. She took her seat at Anevka’s side silently as the gates were opened and the rest of the guests were allowed to pour in.

                The room was huge, draped in reds and purples, and as gaudy and overly decorated as she has come to expect from Stumhulten. The Prince tried too hard and sometimes she would even see Tarvek wince at particularly cheesy pieces. Though tonight he was to distracted examining and judging the outfits everyone was wearing, with Anevka quickly joining in with sarcastic remarks. Zeetha just glanced at them with some concern; she wasn’t sure how any of those ladies could breathe. Nor was she sure whether to give them props for surviving them in the first place, or laud them for their impracticalness. They were all dead if they needed to fight. She was just glad she had been given pants, she could fight in those.

                Dinner came and went with Zeetha unable to remember what she had eaten. Instead she was too busy trying to keep an eye on both Tarvek and Anevka who quite often separated to talk to different people. At one point Anevka shooed her back declaring that she and her defensive expressions were disturbing people. Zeetha gave her an a long incredulous look at the back of her head but let her move on ahead several steps and trailed after in a distance.

                She was hovering several meters from Anevak when she overheard an excited squeal from one of the out of town girls. She looked over briefly only to double back when she realized the girl was holding some strange device as she giggled with her friends.

                “I can’t believe we’re here,” The girl with the device grinned.

                “I know right,” said one of the other girls, wrapping an arm around the first. “Do you think you’ll get a chance to meet one of them, Joan?”

                “I don’t know, I really hope so,” she said. “I want to see what they think of my Sonic Transducer.” Zeetha gaped as she realized what that meant just as Joan glanced up. She brightened.

                “Hey! You ate with the Princes and Princess,” she bounced in recognition. Zeetha glanced widely between her and the Prince who was with Anevka not far away. “I’m Joan Piper, do you think you could intro-.”

She was cut off in a squeak as Zeetha firmly grabbed her forearms and loomed over her wide eyed. Her friend nearly jumped at them but Zeetha turned and looked up right at her. The girl paused mid lunge from the look in Zeetha’s eyes. Zeetha turned back to Joan.

                “Ni,” she said, then made a brief face of annoyance. Shaking her head she looked right into Joan’s eyes, leaning forward until they were barely apart. “Ni,” she repeated firmly. Joan stared up half terrified as Zeetha leaned back and took the contraption from her hands and mimed hiding it in her jacket before handing it to one of the boys in the group. They were the only ones who had a chance of hiding it. Something in the way she looked, the barely hidden tremors, and her wild terrified eyes sobered the party right up. They followed her quick glance over to the Prince and seemed to come to a conclusion.

                They surrounded the young spark so that she was in the middle, hidden from view and began to drift towards the doors. Joan’s friend, the one that had nearly attacked her stayed back for a moment and gave her a long glance.

                “Thank you,” she finally whispered eyes sliding from Zeetha’s face and over to the rest of her group. “If something was to ever happen to her I-,” she paused as if catching herself. “Thank you,” she repeated. Zeetha gave her a slight grin but yet she stayed. After a moment of contemplating the ground she looked back at Zeetha. “If it is that bad, why are you still here?”

                Zeetha jolted a bit at the unexpected question. Before she could catch herself she glanced back at the Prince with a look of disgust, her lip twitched. The girl watched carefully and gave Zeetha a sad look.

                “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. Zeetha looked back and gave a sad smile and a half shrug before giving the girl a slight shove towards the door.

               “Zur Mor Ala,” she whispered as the girl rejoined her friends just before the door. She watched until they left, before shaking her head and allowing the small smile that adorned her lips to fall. Turning she continued on as Anevka moved.

                The rest of the night went smoothly beyond some entertaining drunken antics. Zeetha did her best to keep an eye on both Tarvek and Anevka as well as for some more oblivious sparks. Her job got easier as the night went on and Tarvek and Anevka spent more time together than apart.

                She did not relax and because of that she noticed the shine of steel. She turned just in time for Tarvek’s Storm Knight to appear from nowhere and take down a man in a fancy jacket adorned with brass. A poisoned dagger picked from his limp hand. She had to give the Storm Knights credit; they were good at disappearing and remaining unseen. Perhaps even this on—Zeetha jolted away as a thin needle flew past her face, barely missing her cheek.

                A shout behind her told her that the Smoke knight had been hit. Zeetha turned just in time to spot another glimpse of steel in the dense crowd. Poison couldn’t harm Anevka and so Zeetha stepped sideways and checked Tarvek to the ground as several more needles flew past. She grunted as one snagged her in the shoulder, but it was too late.

                The woman in a purple dress, that was the thrower, she was likely a Storm Knight as well. Half of the assassins had been. Zeetha cursed as the reds and purples of the room began to bleed into each other. She ignored Tarvek as he grabbed at her arm, and lunged after the Woman in Purple.

                The Woman in Purple threw another needle which Zeetha took as in this crowd if she didn’t someone else would. The woman backed away as Zeetha refused to fall even as the world began to mix together, but it was too late. The crowd had seen what she had done, and while many fled a few crowded her, slowing her movements.

                Zeetha caught up as her eyesight began to fail completely. The woman tried a strike but Zeetha caught it and reeled the woman in. She then grasped the needle from her shoulder and shoved it into the women’s neck. Arms were around her as she faulted and let the limp body go. Several people were shouting, Tarvek among them.

                This, this would be a better way to go.

 

                When she awoke the only thing she wanted was a glass of water. Her mouth and throat felt like sand paper. She twitched her nose and blinked her eyes opened. Her brain was fuzzy and felt like she had gotten no sleep. Her stomach churned worse than any hang over. She groaned and pulled the covers over her head.

                It was several minutes later that the events prior to her awakening wheedled into her memory, and even longer before she could build up the curiosity to investigate. Her shoulder and arm stung and a quick shift told her they had been bandaged as well. Pulling the covers down she glanced around the room and found that it was hers. The same covered mirror, the same red walls, the same box on th-wait what?

                Zeetha got to her feet with a painful stretch and stumbled over to her dresser. It was a box wrapped in brown paper. On it was writing in Romanian. Zeetha’s ability to read it had approved in the last year, sneaking peaks into Tarvek’s Skiff journal, along with miscellaneous notes and plans of his had sharpened it up. So she knew it said “from Saint Nick”.

                Tarvek had explained Saint Nick to her when he had explained Christmas, a man who gave out present to all good children every Christmas eve. So she knew that the package meant he was relatively unharmed as he had also explained how he was just a myth, and nobody else would gift her something.

                Steadier on her feet she walked back to her bed and sat down. She pulled at the wrapping paper, skinning it from the box and was confused at what she found.

                It was a bunch of leather. As she pulled part of it from the box she realized that it was thin leather shirt. Zeetha tapped it with a finger and found it sturdy armor. She snorted and let it fall back into the box. It would have been nice to have had this last night. Still as she got dressed she put it on.

It fitted perfectly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bilu Litik Nikias /The Festival of Testing Skills (Bilu-festival; Litik- test; Nikias- of skill) - The winter solstice festival of Skifander. The festival is comprised of a lot of eating, singing and dancing, along with a slew of competition of every kind. From Sparing tournaments in the War family, debates in the Civics family, Cooking competitions, Races, competitions between merchants in who can make more during the festival itself, and a thousand others. The point of the festival is to prove to your ancestors, Ashtara, and the other gods/goddesses' that you have improved from the year before. Also completely made up.
> 
> Zur Mor Ala - "You I thank"


	15. In which Tinka and Zeetha team up

                Time passed. Zeetha watched in disapproval as Tarvek and Anevka worked on her voice. Tweaking it, always tweaking it. Assassinations attempts died completely for Anevka. Apparently the fifty families had finally declared her not a threat, a mistake if Zeetha had ever seen one. The fact she had never died, not really, saved her from being shunned completely but for the most part she was deemed not a player.

                Tarvek on the other hand was finally deemed worthless and the Storm Knight organization refused to assign any more Knights to him. Zeetha wasn’t sure how many Storm Knights had lost their lives trying to keep any eye on Tarvek but she knew it had been a lot. So to compensate she became something of a dual body guard for the royal children when they were home. Tarvek seemed relatively pleased by the knowledge he would no longer be followed by a guard. Zeetha wasn’t surprised; twice his guard had ended up being the assassin.

                She had known Tarvek was more then he seemed since he had thrown her onto her bed more than a year ago. So she was not surprised to stumble on another one of his secret rooms set up for training. The knowledge that he relied heavily on a clank to spar against to keep up his secrets had her aghast. So the next time he snuck in there she had jumped him. She never directly taught him anything, and rarely used moves she had learned from her mother, sticking to the basics that were taught to everyone, but he improved, and Zeetha got a chance to let go of some tension outside of a life or death situation. They ended up sparing at least once every couple of weeks. It pleased her to know she could send him to the floor with ease.

                She still messed with him when he tried to understand Skiff, and sometimes she regretted it. This was one of those times.

                They were seated in the lab Tarvek had outfitted for Anevka. Anevka herself was unconscious on a chair as Tarvek went over basic maintenance of her systems. Her strongmen had been relieved of duty for a while. Zeetha was on the other side of the room with Tinka who had found them shortly after Anevka had been shut down. Tinka watched Zeetha as she slowly went through the final basic steps of a children’s dance from Skifander.

                As she danced Zeetha tried to figure out how to make Tarvek spill his plan, as she knew he must have one. Tarvek wouldn’t follow along with a plan that gave Anevka so much power without several backups and deceptions in place. It would be so much easier if one of them could speak the others language. She really should stop messing with him and let him learn it, but it was the last thing she had left and she loathed to share it.

                As she stepped back to let Tinka have a try she let out a quite snort. From the last glance she had of his Skiff journal it may be too late anyway, he had way too many presumptions that were so off the mark it hurt. She shook her head and glanced over at Tinka in case the clank needed some assistance with her balance.

                Tinka went through the steps with a surprising grace. Zeetha had noticed she had better balance when she was learning than any other time, and it even seemed to be helping her outside of the lessons as well. Since then Zeetha had made it a mission to teach her every Skifandrian dance she could. Some were scared, and others required swords which she didn’t have and were probably more up Otilia’s alley anyway. She knew that because Tarvek had an interest bordering on obsession for the muses, which coupled nicely with his Storm King obsessions.

                Storm King. She snorted. She liked to think she had a better grasp on Europa’s politics now after all this time, but she couldn’t see how the legacy of a kingdom that lasted for one king who had more decedents as she had family meant anything now, or why it should.

                “Hi-highness,” Tinka suddenly called out beside her. Both Zeetha and Tarvek jumped in surprise. “T-the Green one wan-wants to as-ask question?”

                “Really?” Tarvek asked glancing between Tinka and Zeetha. Zeetha just stared over at Tinka. Tinka had never misunderstood anything she had tried to say, but neither had they tried to have a complicated discussion. Nor had she attempted to translate, or even spoken much at all. The dancing lessons had her moving more, but she continued to stay mostly silent.

                This was new.

                “Ab-about plan, real p-plan,” she continued. “I-I-I like to kn-know too?” That was also new, Tinka wanting to know what was going on outside her little bubble. Zeetha tilted her head as Tinka gave her a knowing glance. Then she peeked at Tarvek out of the corner of her eyes. He had gone tense at the idea of sharing one of him many secrets, let alone this one, but at the same time it was Tinka who asked. One of the Muses he so adored, and still felt like he owed the world to for all the pain she had gone through here, because of him.

                He stilled then sighed. Quickly he finished up some diagnostics and then carefully closed the panel on the back of Anevka’s head. The chair he sat on had wheels, grafted on in a surge of frustration as a young teen at having to get up and down to move from project to project, so he pushed himself away from his lifeless sister and over to the girls.

                “Were going to have to make this quick,” he said without urging. “I don’t want to have to make excuses to Anevka for why she was out for so long.” He rubbed his hands together, then tapped his fingers.

                “You know the basics of the plan, yes. About grafting Lucrezia voice into Anevka, have her take the control of the people away from the Geisterdamen and also keep them in line,” he pulled his glasses off and gave a half shrug. “That’s all true but… I’m worried that’s where mine and Anevka’s plans… diverge.”

                Zeetha let out a snort. Tarvek glared halfheartedly in her direction. He looked like he wanted to defend Anevka, but then he remembered who he was talking to. “Yes, yes I know big surprise.”

                He looked down as if he did not want to continue but did anyway. “I think Anevka plans to continue stealthily wasping the population, at least until she has everyone in Balan’s gap, maybe further. My sister never had aspirations of ruling them all, or at least I never thought she did.” He looked lost and Zeetha grimaced. Sooner or later he was going to have to accept that his sister was gone. Whoever was driving the clank now, she wasn’t her.

                She poked him in the shoulder when he stalled. When he looked up Zeetha waved her hand and then pointed straight at him. And you? He let out a full body sigh.

                “Once Anevka has control I want to get a close look at the hive machines and the other equipment they have down there. I think that with enough study I might be able to find a way to cure Stumhulten from the revenants.” Zeetha raised an eyebrow surprised. “Look like I said before we can’t just try and sabotage them, I don’t even have the slightest clue how they work, chances are I would accidently let them free and then there would be no stopping the Baron.” His face took on the pinched expression it always did when the Baron came up.

                Zeetha did not know much about the Baron. From Tarvek who she got most of her outside information he was a tyrant and an over thrower who had shown up out of nowhere and started taking over other people’s lands. That Stumhulten was his vassal because by the time he had gotten there he had built up an unstoppable army and the Prince had no choice but sign over peacefully. That the Baron would destroy Stumhulten if he learned of its secrets. That his empire was one strong shove from collapsing. That he had no heir.

                Considering what she had learned about the Fifty Families, through talk and the fact that most of the assassinations attempts came from them, the Baron was more of a norm than Tarvek was willing to admit. Not to mention he apparently did not accept slaves in his empire, something Zeetha could appreciate. That automatically made him better than the Prince at the very least.

                Which, to be honest, meant very little.

                “At the very least I should be able to dismantle the hives, but if I can find a cure I can let Europa know that the stealth revenants exist, and that’s theirs a free cure for them.” He looked absolutely thrilled at the idea, rubbing his hands together in glee. A hero that’s what he would become a hero that people would flock towards. Zeetha rolled her eyes and leaned back with crossed arms. She knew his Storm King ambitions were going to show up sooner or later. “After that I’m hoping to find your sisters,” he said softly to Tinka who tilted her head.

                “I know I haven’t figured out how to help you yet,” he admitted bowing his head. “So I can’t guarantee that…” He paused than shook his head. “Being Europa’s savior should give me plenty of clout in finding what happened to the rest of your sisters. The Baron can’t live forever. After you announce me Storm King I should have even more. And I promise that I will do everything in my power to restore you and your sisters.” He paused, as if he was going to reach out to her, but instead he shook his head and pushed away. Rolling back to where Anevka sat unmoving and continuing his work.

                Zeetha and Tinka watched him for a while in silence. It wasn’t everything, Zeetha could tell. He hadn’t said how he plans on dealing with his father, his sister, the Geisterdamen, or how he was going to avoid curiosity in how he learned about the problem, or gained enough knowledge to fix it. Zeetha didn’t doubt that Tarvek had plans for that as well. She still didn’t like it, but at least in involved destroying the wasps.

                It didn’t escape her notice that he didn’t mention what was to happen with her. Faintly and against her will her mind limped down that path, wondering if she would ever leave this place. Ever find her home. A cold metal hand touched her briefly and Zeetha flinched a bit before glancing at Tinka from the corner of her eye.

                “Lo-loss is hard,” Tinka whispered. “Better soon.”

                She hoped Tinka was right.


	16. In which Zeetha learns of a secret

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Monday will be the last chapter of Part 1!

Time passed, and Tarvek and Anevka got just the slightest bit closer to their goal when the Prince unraveled a device that he said could detect the exact frequency of Lucrezia voice. For some reason or another that Zeetha couldn’t make head or tails of that wasn’t enough to recreate the voice and so the endless retweaking continued.

Currently Zeetha was sitting with Tarvek as he reorganized and declutterd one of his labs, one in which he had avoided using until recently. Zeetha ignored him as she poked around in some of his boxes. Most of them were full of old sketches. Plans for project he had dreamed up as a kid. A vast majority of them seemed to be outfits. Most of which were dresses that could double as torture devices, or perhaps simply were torture devices. Wincing at a particularly painful one, girls waists were not supposed to be that thin, she rummaged through another box, and was surprised to find something solid.

Since the rather solid thump she had smacked it with hadn’t lost her, her hand she felt confident in pulling it out. It was a small metal box, with noticeable welding marks where attempts at decoration had been made. Shaking it carefully and hearing nothing, Zeetha slowly opened it, making sure it was opened away from her and she was ready to throw it if needed.

Instead of a bright flash, suspicious beeping, or even nothing at all, soft but metallic notes began to stream from the half opened lid. Zeetha blinked and opened it fully, finding a thick net of gears and other small bits filling the bottom.

A gasp came from behind her and Zeetha peeked to find Tarvek gaping at her. “I forgot I still had that,” he admitted as he regained composure. He reached for it and Zeetha handed it to him. His smile was pained as he examined the weld work and the gears and cogs. “Neither of us had broken through yet,” he explained. “We got into so much trouble for sneaking out and stealing one of the welder’s tools.” As she watched his smile flickered and a dark pained look passed. “Of course that was before he grew up to become such a debauched cad,” he snarled turning and throwing the box over his shoulder. Zeetha caught it easily but winced at the force behind the throw.

Oh, him. She knew enough to know who had Tarvek all up to arms, had heard enough in scattered accusations and grumbled rants to know he was talking about one Gilgamesh Holzfäller. But in all honestly she really didn’t know anything about him, for all Tarvek snarled and grumbled he rarely said anything that made any sense. Mostly he just denounced his character in twenty increasingly creative ways. Yet she could tell how much Tarvek hurt when Gil was brought up, by him no less, how much he ached for his long lost friend.

She walked over to him as he sat with his head in his hands and gently placed the music box on his desk. He sighed, “Is it wrong that I…I tried so hard to help, get him away from the night clubs, and that,” he shudder. “Pirate Girl and he just pushed me away and continued. So is it wrong that I miss him?”

Zeetha hesitated, and then placed a hand on his shoulder. “Ni,” Zeetha said softly before glancing at the ceiling with a faint grin and a slight shrug. “Zur tha mahat situ, ‘Zot akat nerubu.’ Heh." <Though you are a major hypocrite, trying to “save him” Heh.> Tarvek let out a sigh and Zeetha frowned.

So she let out a low hum. Tarvek blinked up at her. “Go on about what?” Zeetha tapped the music box, waved a hand, gave a half shrug, and finally ended with an eye roll. About Gil you idiot, anything you want. Tarvek frowned and looked down at his hands. It was quite for a long while and Zeetha snorted in impatience. If he wasn’t going to talk she might as wel-

“I met him on the Baron’s ship. He was an orphan the Baron had taken in and nobody, not even him, knew who his parents were. Because of that he was the lowest in the social hierarchy, and well, got picked on a lot.

“I meant to make him my lackey, but he turned out fun and absolutely brilliant, he could care less of who I was or about proper behavior. He came up with all the best games,” Tarvek smiled softly, unknowingly. “He had the strangest hatred for shoes, knew every secret passage on the ship, we could go almost everywhere, but then that day in the vaults…”

He shook his head, for once not going into a rage, but instead looking the most vulnerable Zeetha has ever seen of anyone. “In Paris I thought maybe we could be friends again, obviously that didn’t work out. I still don’t know what I did wrong to make him so angry…” he stared off into the distance for a while. Zeetha shifted.

“Have I ever told you about that time in Paris,” he said after a while, voice fond. “A stampede of Electric proportions, I think that’s what the papers called it.” He shook his head, his lips twisting into something like a smile. “I was walking home from one of Madam Acord’s classes when he quit literally rammed into me. I wasn’t, well, happy to say the least. This was quite a while into my trip to Paris. I had already given up on us being friends again.” He paused, somber before shaking his head.

“He was completely intoxicated, convinced that he was needed to stop Prof. Berger’s electric sheep. Of course he then face planted into the gutters. I,” Tarvek stopped looking a bit embarrassed. “Well, I almost left him there until I realized he had actually passed out. The school wasn’t in a bad neighborhood for say, but it was a school for sparks. So I heft one of his arms over my shoulder and dragged him back to my flat. Getting muck all over my shirt I assure you,” he couldn’t help but add.

Zeetha rolled her eyes, but then paused, something about this bothered her. Her thoughts wandered back to that morning and the announcement of the Baron’s heir. Tarvek had been furious, and a stream of people had converged to the castle to talk with the Prince. Plans being erased and remade, all because of one Gil Wulfenbach - wait.  Opening her mouth she tried to explain her thoughts before realizing she had no good way to do so. She had no motion for the Baron, and there wasn’t something around connected to him.

“Woolfeenbac,” she tried, Tarvek started from his story.

“What?”

“Gil Woolfeenbac,” she repeated giving Tarvek a searching look. His face tightened at the mention of the Barons new announced heir.

“No not the Barons’ heir, Gil Holzfäller,” he corrected. Zeetha gave him her “You’re an idiot” glare and he paused. “No that’s, that’s not possible, it’s-“ he sat down hard. “It makes a lot of sense. Why he was shocked, why he was angry, oh god!”

He dropped his head into his hands, “Why he tried to keep away from me in Paris, no wonder her was so angry to wake up sharing a bed with me.”

Zeetha clutched her eyes shut, hiding a silent bark of a laugh behind a hastily placed hand. She couldn’t help it, not after all the anecdotes she had heard about this Gil. More than once she had thought Tarvek acted more like a spurred lover than and grumpy ex-friend. Out of context- well to be honest the context wasn’t helping him here much either.

Tarvek continued, eyes closed, “He probably thought I was trying to take advantage of him, or else try to regain his confidence.” He frowned, mostly because he couldn’t blame Gil for thinking that; it was something his family would do. “I mean I cleaned him up, got him some new clothes, put him to be-”

Tarvek opened his eyes in time to gape as Zeetha had enough and doubled over in a breathless and silent laugh. “What NO! That’s not, that’s not-” His face burned and he backed away. “Shut up, shut up, Get Out!” He yelped as he flung several of the paper balls that flooded to room. Zeetha peeled out snickering, glancing back only when she was out of reach. Well that was fun.

She wandered the dark halls, glancing out a window to judge the time. She had hours until she would be missed and she wasn’t tired having slept the night before. What to do, what to do. Over the last year she had explored the castle rather thoroughly, finding hidden rooms and even a few secret tunnels out. Wincing Zeetha rubbed her neck, that hadn’t been a lot of fun.

Still there were several areas she had not explored fully; the floor the Prince did most of his business in, and the tunnels that the Geisterdamen lived. Zeetha had been escorted down their once with the Prince and the royal children, and from a distance had gotten her first glimpse of the Geisterdamen. For the strangest reason, something about them had bothered her, almost like they were familiar. She had only truly met one, Lady Vrin, the leader she expected. She had given her a disgusted look before continuing her conversation with the Prince. Zeetha didn’t bother trying to say anything.

She had no idea how extensive the Geisterdamen’s tunnels were, but since there were no helpful markers below to tell her where the castle’s property line was it would be best to leave them alone. Her neck already hurt from exploring one of the secret tunnels several days before. It was easy to hide burns under her jacket collar, but it was no fun either, not with Anevka’s love of using “Fulmen” as an attention grabber.

She was never going to lose this scar but that didn’t matter much, she was never losing the collar either.

Ducking into an enclave Zeetha watched as a patrol of guards marched past. The closer she got to the Princes quarters the more guards she would run into. Perfect. The guards in the rest of the castle had stopped being much of a challenge anyway. She had never been bad at stealth, a life time of sneaking around the War Palace and training from her Uncle Nod had made sure of that, but she had definitely approved over the last year. A good thing because she was certain her combat abilities had eroded, let alone her swordsmanship. She missed her swords, she hadn’t held any for years. They didn’t trust her with blades; it would be too easy to slice through Anevka’s cables, or at least that was her reasoning. 

Maybe she should go hunting for a pair. There had to be a couple of decent ones around somewhere, even if they were different than the ones she preferred. Her mother had always preferred vertical hilted swords.

There were several close calls as she snuck her way through the unfamiliar halls. Servants were almost unheard of at this time of night so she used the servant passages whenever she got the chance. They had fewer booby traps and no patrols, a surprising weakness in a castle full of schemers. She didn’t even try to get near his bedroom, she had no interest in meeting him in the dead of night, nor did she want to risk it in case he had his own Smoke Knight. So instead, for now, she kept to the fringe of his floor, to get a feel of things.

Or at least she would have, had a patrol not suddenly turned when she least expected it, forcing her to dash further into the floor to avoid being detected, a task made harder by the gymnastics she had to do to avoid the increasing amount of traps. Just as she thought she was home free the sound of boots coming from another direction sent her to swivel down another hall, a dead end. With a curse on the tip of her tongue she jumped over a pressure plate, slipped into a half open door and rolled to the side.

From outside the dark room she could hear the two patrols call out greetings and passwords. Their boots muffled by the thick carpet but noticeable as they slowly marched away. She sighed in relief. She was lucky this door had been open, especially since, as she examined it, had she opened it herself she would have set off some kind of alarm. Someone had been distracted when they left.

The room she was in was dark, but Zeetha could see that it was full of filing cabinets and storage boxes. Zeetha pulled out a small contraption she had liberated from one of Tarvek’s labs. Clicking one of the buttons, a thin and dim beam of red light burst out. A long cone sprung out from around the opening to keep the light from brightening the whole room, perfect for some late night espionage.

Carefully she stepped around the room, it didn’t seem like there were any booby traps on the floors but you could never be too careful. The cabinets only had numbers to label them, leaving Zeetha to choose one at random. After checking for any traps, she slowly opened the drawer of the filing cabinet closest to the door. Inside, as to be expected, were files.

A quick glance proved them to be rather boring, supply information, census, construction details, things involved with running a city. From what she could grasp from what she read, some of the jargon was beyond her current understanding, she had to admit that the Prince was not a bad ruler. If you know, ignored the fact he had most of his population secretly enslaved and was obsessed with someone who almost succeeded in destroying Europa as a whole that is. Some of the construction reports came with maps, and for the first time Zeetha got a good look at Stumhulten and Balen’s gap geography.

One of the newest projects, to replace every gas street light with arching electric ones, had the most up to date and extensive map of them all. Zeetha wavered, sticking a finger in the file to hold its place; she pulled the folded paper out fully. Glancing over it, light held firmly between her teeth, Zeetha looked for anything familiar. She had no idea at all what Europa looked like, or how the scattered cities she has heard mention fit together.

The map covered an area much larger than the city of Skifander, but she didn’t see Italy, (the place she had spent most of her first ten months in), or Paris. At the very edge of the map she could make out Beetlesburg, the place where the Prince had gone to school and met Lucrezia. She also found Mechanisburg nestled in a large valley. That had been where James family was going, where the Great Hospital was. She wondered faintly how he was doing, if he recovered, if Mason was alright.

Pushing back her hair she glanced back down, reading over name after name. Curiously, next to a mark that the legend said meant ruins was a label that read as Castle Wulfenbach. She thought the Castle Wulfenbach was supposed to be a large airship. Like the ones she saw out the windows all the time. There was also Passholdt, which she had heard whispered a couple of times by visiting family and other royalty that had come to meet with the Prince. The small town had come up surprisingly often over the last few month though she didn’t know why.

Other than that, and Stumhulten itself she didn’t recognize any other name. Biting her lip Zeetha glanced back in the folder it had come from. The project was finished; chances are nobody would be looking in this file. And even if they did, a misplaced map would not be a cause of alarm. But did she really need it. What use was it if she couldn’t even step into town?

She folded it up and stuck it into her interior pocket anyway. Tarvek had started adding them after he gave up on convincing her to stop hiding away food. That had been a long time ago, and since then she had moved from bits of bread to random items she thought might be useful.

Closing the door she walked deeper into the room, checking and opening cabinets at will. One held a humongous bound journal. Made even more so by the fact all it held was a family tree. Zeetha wrinkled her nose at how closely related some of the marriages were in the older generations, at least by Tarvek’s generation it had spread out a little. It was no wondered half the people who visited the castle shared Tarvek’s hair.

Turning to the last page she realized what the journal was for. The only name on that page was Valios, with the next few listing, in very cramped handwriting, every known child he had. She gave a low whistle that was a lot of kids. It was a book detailing the line of the Storm King. She didn’t have the patients or care to read through the whole thing, but she would bet that if she did she would find Tarvek as his direct heir, or at least one of them. She rolled her eyes and dumped it back into the drawer. All the containers nearby held documents that were used to make the journal. At the very least, they were very through.

A little further in, Zeetha found her first trap. A quick dismantle had her looking through some historical documents, along with some secrets of the Princes of old, their information having long since passed being terribly dangerous. She could even see some that she knew, which meant it must be some serious common knowledge now. She did find a jackpot near the back, a map of Balan’s Gap, one which to her glee showed where the secret entrances that led from Stumhulten ended up. The map was old, and even in its heyday she doubted it showed every passage, but it still was a neat find. She didn’t dare take it though, instead pulling a stubby pencil she had found from one of her pockets and marked the entrances on hers. After she was done she carefully hid it back where she found it.

As she hit the back of the room, Zeetha found her next trap. Frowning she examined it, following the near invisible cord. With a quick flip of her finger she unhooked it cord, disabling the trap, a nasty acid sprayer by the look of it. Intrigued she carefully opened the cabinet, wary for more traps. There were none and she was disappointed to find what looked like more city records. She almost closed the cabinet when she noticed, nestled not quite in the middle, between some census records and a list of bribes taken, was a word on a file: Passholdt.

Another trap disabled, this one to destroy the files themselves, and she carefully pulled the file out. Sitting comfortably on the floor she opened it with curiosity and began to read.


	17. In which Zeetha shows Tarvek

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter of Part 1, i hope you've enjoyed it. I'm hoping to start putting Part 2 out before the end of March but I'm not certain I will be able to, school is really dragging me thin, but I'll have it out as soon as I can.

   

* * *

           

                Not long after two am Tarvek sat at his desk staring tiredly at the old music box as it played its makeshift lullaby. Memories swirled in his head and he let out a sigh. Maybe he could wri-

                His door slammed open and Tarvek jumped up from his chair half way into a fighting stance only to pause when he realized it was not an assassin.

                “…Zeetha?” he asked as he relaxed his stance. She stood in front of him wide eyed, body twitching from repressed movement. He had never seen Zeetha like this before, she didn’t do panic. Angry determination yes, wild out right fear no.  “Wha-“

                Zeetha didn’t bother to explain; instead she grabbed him by his sleeve and pulled him down the hall. He sputtered trying in vain to get her to let go. “What are you doing, let go?” he whispered harshly. Zeetha gave him a dark look over her shoulder and tugged hard on his sleeve in warning.

                He fell quiet and rolled his eyes, allowing her to drag him. At least until he realized where they were going. His eyes widened. “That’s Father’s floor, I’M not allowed their uninvited, what are you-“

                Zeetha shushed him, pulling him into a closet and tugging him around so he could see her face to face. Before he could see anything she snapped her thumbs and pointer fingers together in a very distinct sign.

                “Wasps,” he whispered glancing between her hands to her face. “You found information on the wasps?” She nodded firmly and Tarvek looked up wide eyed, if he could make the cure soo-wait “What were you doing on Father’s floor don’t you realize that for you that’s a death sentence.”

                Zeetha gave him a half shrug as she peeked out the door. Seeing no one she motioned to Tarvek to follow. He did reluctantly. The trip upstairs was relatively quiet, the two pulling each other around booby traps and away from the patrol men’s sights.

                His eyes widened when they came upon the half opened door, “You broke in?”

                Zeetha signed over her shoulder a flail of her hand, fingers apart, and increasingly familiar sign found it that way.

                “Really?” he asked dubious. Zeetha nodded once firmly, leading him to the back of the room as she grabbed a familiar device from her pocket. He had wondered where that went. “Von,” she said as she disabled the traps on a particular set of drawers. Tarvek glanced over her shoulder as she grabbed a single file from many. She passed it to him along with his Nocturnal Optical Preserving Electric Torch before padding over to the door where she crouched to keep watch. He opened the file and settled down.

                The bad news well it was all bad news really, but the worst news was they had created a wasp that could wasp sparks. He could not wrap around why anyone, beyond his Father perhaps, would do that. It went against the condition the Knights of Jove had put on Lucrezia for their help in the first place. Also apparently Passholdt was now; he grimaced openly as he read on, completely destroyed with everyone in it. The only good news that he could see was they only managed to make one and a prototype at that. There was a chance it wouldn’t even work, though without the notes he couldn’t say or even guess at what the side effects would be. His Father likely had them hidden away somewhere much more secure. He was going to have to investigate that. He could already see where this was going.

                An itch buried away in the back of his mind. Weakly he tried to ignore it, but it refused to not be heard. A spark wasp, just one, if used on the Baron, well Gil wouldn’t like it no doubt, but he could do it, he could. It would have been better to do it before Gil was declared heir, but even now his title was heir presumptive, not apparent. One revenant and he could be heir to an empire, King, and without any war or-

                Zeetha took one look at his face and struck him over the head. He gaped astonished and glared fiercely at her. She snarled right back, Tarvek didn’t know it but she was a Princess of Skif-, well she wasn’t just some lowly servant. She was not going to let him become his father, something which she furiously signed out to him in imprecise signs and looks. Tarvek flinched back as he had been struck once more.

                “What, no I’m no-“he looked away, down to the overly plush rug below. Zeetha’s lips twisted and she grabbed Tarvek by the ears and made him look at her right in the eye. He gulped tried to glance away a few times before slumping in her hold. “I don’t want to be my Father,” he breathed. “I don’t.”

                Zeetha let him go, and smiled what was probably the first sincere and non-mocking smile she had ever given him. Tarvek looked down to the file suddenly all business.

                “We can’t just takes these, someone will notice sooner rather than later,” he declared as he strode over to the empty drawer, rereading the notes. The annoying news was that he couldn’t see much from these papers that would help him in developing a cure. He needed the full and original notes which would not be easy to get. Still the information on these papers was useful and not something he wanted to forget. “Watch the door, close it as far as you can without reengaging the alarm,” he told Zeetha as he sat heavily on the ground and pulled out the small journal he used to record the language Zeetha spoke. He was going to crack that one day, but for now he was going to have to sacrifice the journal for a better cause.

                He also pulled out an overly decorated fountain pen and began to transcribe the files into his Journal, encrypted of course. As he wrote he muttered from around his NOPET. Zeetha eyeing him warily from where she crouched, his voice was taking on a slightly sparky tone. Something rare for him, she had come to notice, though he was without a doubt a high level spark. Thankfully he didn’t escalate any further, and was soon done transcribing.

                After sneaking the file back in its drawer and resetting the traps, Tarvek joined Zeetha at the door. After a quick check to make sure their wasn’t an alarm for when the door fully closed, the two ghosted out of the room and away to one of Tarvek’s secret labs. Immediately Tarvek ripped the pages out of his journal and began to transcribe them again onto plain paper in a much harder to decipher code. Even as he did this he began to speak.

                “The papers don’t say where the prototype or the notes are but I highly doubt Father would let them leave the castle. We are going to have to find them. They would have had to reverse engineer the wasps rather intensely to even get as far as they did, this could be my chance.” Zeetha sat herself on the work table with the least amount of residue and eyed the awakening spark. “I could create the cure, I could be a hero, I will be Storm King, I Will Rule-Hey!” He scowled as he turned to where the paper ball had come from. Zeetha, ready to leap away, glared. Tarvek opened his mouth as if he was about to rave before he seemed to realized what he was doing. He came back to himself with a wince. “Right, right, first thing first.”

                He finished up his encrypting and tossed the journal papers into the fire, “Make sure that burns completely,” he ordered as he began to rummage through one of his boxes. Zeetha twisted her lips, but did as she was told, using a poker to push the papers into the hottest embers. He was finally doing something about all this and she wasn’t about to stop him.

                “Here,” he declared pulling a rolled up paper, “I knew I still had this!” Zeetha came over as he rolled it out on the table. It was a basic map of Stumhulten Castle, so basic it didn’t even have any secret doors or hidden rooms marked, and at least some of the rooms on the paper were mislabeled or outright wrong. She raised her eyebrow.

                “Yes, yes I know but this is a tourist map,” he explained as he pulled over large sheath of glass. “What did you expect, that we let everyone know what the castle looks like on the inside, know how to sneak in?” He took the sheath of glass and covered the map, and then turned on the electric light above the table. “We’ll just have to make corrections as we go, here,” he handed Zeetha a pencil of some kind and then began correcting names and walls on the glass with his own. Zeetha watched uncertain, glancing between the door to the rest of the castle and the map below.

                Tarvek glanced up when he realized Zeetha wasn’t helping and caught the look. “We’re fine for now, only we know about this place, it’s my best hidden workroom.” Zeetha glanced at him with narrow eyes, and pointed at herself. “Yes, yes you found it I know. But nobody else is going to go looking like you did, people here prefer not to learn secrets and to stay away from extra trouble, it keeps them alive longer.” He grimaced, but his tone was matter of fact. That was the key of surviving employment in Stumhulten castle. “Obviously you think different.” He was really starting to worry about her self-preservation instinct, as in her lack of one. Journeying to his Fathers floor was completely suicidal no matter what help it brought.

                Zeetha shrugged one shoulder and began inking hidden rooms onto the glass. Unlike the other servants she didn’t have much of a choice to ignore secrets and she couldn’t tell them anyway.

                “I’ll add some extra traps though,” Tarvek mused. “But really the only people who may try are Anevka and my father. Anevka can’t sneak anywhere anymore and the Smoke Knights refuse to work for her, while my father is to obsessed and busy to go looking for hidden rooms. They have no reason to believe I have any secrets and even if they did go looking I have a few less well hidden labs and workshops closer to my rooms. And even if one of the other fractions thought to send a Knight or other person here they would be after my fathers work and secrets not mine.”

                Zeetha waved a lazy hand, stopping him from continuing. She got it; the plans were safe in here for now. Frowning she marked the secret entrance she had found a couple of days earlier with an arrow and looked over the map, it seemed right except for the Princes floor where, other than a few wall corrections, neither her nor Tarvek knew enough about that floor to finish it. Tarvek stood back to frown at it while Zeetha simply began to X out areas where it couldn’t be, Her room, Anevka’s rooms, Tarvek’s rooms and secret rooms.

                “I doubt its anywhere outside Father’s floor or…” he paused. “I wonder if the Geisterdamen know about it, if so it could be hiding down there with the other tech they have.” Zeetha frowned but simply put an X over the storage room they had found the documents in. Leaning back she glanced at Tarvek who studied the map looking for inspiration. “Either way we’re going to have to double check every room, in case there’s a secret I missed…” He paused thinking, “You can help there, you basically do that anyway…You are planning on helping right?

                For a moment he looked incredibly vulnerable and unsure. It had been a long time since he could really plan with someone instead of just himself, didn’t have to worry about cross purpose and inventible betrayals. He hadn’t been able to do that since…well for a very long time.

Zeetha rolled her eyes, what did he thinks he was doing right now. She nodded though to his relief. “Oh right then-“One of his clocks on the table struck the hour, a beautifully composed song drifted out and Tarvek widened his eyes. “That’s the five am song,” he explained. “I you don’t go now you’ll be caught.”

                Zeetha went but it was too late and for the first time got caught out of her rooms and away from her charge. Breathing for the next few days was torture but she grimaced and bared it. It was worth it to be finally doing something against the Prince, against the Princess, to be doing something at all. She was going to make sure those wasps died if it killed her.


End file.
